


Welcome to Gondolin

by WaywardDesertKnight



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Horror, Canon Major Character Death, Inspired by Welcome to Night Vale, Multi, Quenya Names Used, References to past trauma, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-04-06 00:43:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 52,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4201380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaywardDesertKnight/pseuds/WaywardDesertKnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A city unawares. A strange red rain. When disaster strikes, it will take the whole community to grow and overcome it. But when the king might be a werewolf, and the princess outpaces even the fastest horses, will anything ever be normal again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Curious Incident of the Midafternoon Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ingenious_spark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingenious_spark/gifts).



_Clouds are secrets wrapped in silk. These secrets are difficult to describe. All we know is that they are unknowable and we should forget about them._

_Welcome to Ondolindë_

_Listeners, normally I would begin as I normally would with the news around town, saving the weather for near the end. However the news around town is the weather. Tirohtar, perfect, perfect, Tirohtar, the head of the Innovation and Research department here, has reported some very interesting findings about the large storm that he believes is rolling in from the west. The storm should be hitting our fair city some time this afternoon. Residents are advised to run and scream in terror at their convenience. And now a look at the community calendar._

Halyahendu shouted out across the open market at the midday shoppers. A few people paid the herald heed, most children who found his news incredibly fascinating, and the more eccentric adults within the community. His gaze flicked around the shops, suddenly concerned for the wellbeing of most of the patrons therein. Being the town crier of Gondolin had come naturally to him, after all he heard and saw more than most, and was gifted with a beautiful voice for delivering news, even if he lacked the gift of singing on key. At first he reported the news as it happened, but after a century or so of that he grew bored. No one cared that the flocks of sheep in the pastures had just had three new lambs, or that there was a High Council meeting the following week. So he got inventive.

For three hundred years his news reports had become something of an entertainment within the community. Eccentricities and all. As such he had gained something of a following, providing the news in this format made people pay attention to it. And when people paid attention to the news they tended to provide him with information in return. Thus the city's knowledge prospered in some form or another. Most of the High Council, particularly the Noldor thought him a joke and nothing more. Others found him a reliable finger on the pulse of how the kingdom fared.

"Halyo!"

He paused as an elf came running up the stairs of the shrine to the Valar. His black hair streamed down his back, framing his slender, pleasing face, and green eyes nicely. "Listeners, it would seem we have a guest on our program today, it is the Lord of the Fountain."

"Halyo, have you seen Tiro?" Aegthelion skidded to a halt. "The instruments in his office are going ballistic. What's going on?"

"Honestly Lord Aegthelion, have you not been paying attention?" He laughed, a low delighted rumble in his chest. "Perfect, sweet Tirohtar has gone to investigate the storm coming in from the west. Have you not been listening to today's report?"

The warrior rolled his eyes, "obviously not, I just ran over here. We were in Council when the entire floor below us began whistling and ringing. I went to check and found his entire workspace a cacophony. Where is he?"

"That would explain it then. As I said he has gone to investigate the storm. Now if you'll excuse me, I was in the middle of the-"

"What was that about a storm?"

The crier gripped the other's shoulders, spun him around and pointed to the large red cloud, crackling with purple lightning, and blotting out everything in its path. "There, Lord Aegthelion, he has gone to investigate that storm..."

"What in the Void is that?!" Aegthelion swore.

"No idea, that's why we're investigating."

"Right, I have to go." With that he sprinted off.

Halyahendu adjusted his vest, smoothing the dark purple sash around his midsection. Most of the crowd seemed uncaring of the interruption, though one or two had turned their attention towards the storm encroaching on the hidden valley.

_Listeners, you will forgive me if the interruption caused a delay in the community calendar. Upcoming of course is the big event Tarnin Austa, don't forget that starting at midnight we must all be silent and supplicate ourselves to the judgment of the Valar. Those who don't will be cast into the unending and terrifying Void. Also remember to bring your food to the community party within the grand pavilion. It's sure to be a fun time! And now, traffic._

The sky darkened around the city, an unnatural black and red flooded into the sky, dragging with it a massive torrent of red rain around the city. Screams echoed around the plaza as elves fled hither and thither to avoid the weather. Halyahendu paused his report to change his tune, "it would seem mass chaos has broken out in the central market district with reports of similar incidents breaking out within the financial and artisan districts. No word yet on what the mysterious substance that has fallen from the sky actually is, though from the smell it would appear to be blood." The herald stepped out from the overhang protecting the doors to the shrine and into the strange rain, as the thunder crackled overhead. Mouth opened, his head tipped back, the thick red drops trickled in, and as he swallowed, the sensation of warmth washed over him. It started in the pit of his stomach, which spread to his limbs while a humming grew in his ears. As he attempted to open his eyes, only darkness met him.

_It would seem listeners, that some of this mysterious blood rain has run into my eyes. But it is strange, though I can no longer see the screaming anarchy of the market, the shrine of the Valar from where I usually narrate, or the massive cloud that has rolled in overhead, it feels as though I am able to perceive the vast infinity of the universe more clearly than ever before. I can see Tirohtar and his team of researchers and investigators upon the mountain. I perceive the King in his palace as the City High Council has gathered to discuss emergency protocol. The world has unfolded, a map long forgotten by time and space now revealed before me._

Footsteps drew him to pause for a second time, splashing in the puddling blood between cracks of thunder. "Halyo, what's the word?"

"Well this is a treat listeners, as it would seem our guest for our next report has arrived early." He chuckled, neck craned towards the newcomer. "Pityaruva of the animal care guild, recently arrived from the paddocks. It would seem the sheep have taken to thirsting for your blood."

"I hadn't noticed, it's not like my arm has been stripped to the bone or anything." The small elf rolled his eyes, at least that was what the herald assumed, he'd lost track of where his informant in the palace had put his face, or the rest of his body for that matter. He had also lost sight of the plaza, but ignored that development. "His Majesty asked me to check if Tiro had returned from the mountains yet."

Halyahendu's gaze turned towards said mountains yet. "He is trapped, no, not trapped, willingly stuck. It would seem the boulders have a good deal of opinions and information. But wait... no there is something in this storm. Something foul. A blood mist of malice that knows no end."

"What sort of malice?"

"The malice of darkness that knows no rest, of a wolf starving in the woods, an ancient, twisted hunger. A blackness woven of the blackness that slew the Trees. This wolf will not rest until all of us burn before him. A howling madness drives him on, a fear brewing in the maelstrom. The Void has cracked and broken, a tarnished nothingness from which none may escape-"

A crack of the unnatural lightning rent the top of the temple and Halyahendu slid between the falling rocks until something tackled him, the reverberation of stone on stone. The marble that made the plaza cracked, and the crier stumbled. The dust settled in the thick red rain, the rivers dribbling along to join with the others. "Ruvo? Are you still there? It has gone very quiet from you. I know you detest to speak, but some indication that you have not been injured further would be appreciated."

He waited, suddenly aware of the new noises and sights from nearby. Falcons screaming, grown as large as Manw ë 's eagles, carrying off the sheep, now bright as a rainbow and thirsting for blood. The people of this city, bodies broken and racked with pain. Aegthelion doubled over, clawing at the split skin of his ribs. Tirohtar again, alone in the mountains, his compatriots having fled.

_Urgent news from the market news where one of the absurdly strong bolts of lightning have struck the shrine of the Valar. One confirmed caught in the fall, no word on other injuries. As it stands, we advise all members of the community to take caution going about their business. More reports are coming in of others injured whether due to erratic animals, vegetables, or the strange changes overtaking the citizens of our beautiful city._

_Is there nothing more that I can do besides stand here and relay information to the city? Am I powerless to aid in the widespread destruction? Listeners, I do not know what power I have to stop this horrific deluge, but I know one thing that remains in my power. And I shall use my power to take you now, to the weather._

Halyahendu sat on one piece of rubble, until the sound of a faint yowl caught his ear, waiting for the sounds of the world to pass. He pivoted on his seat, now fumbling blindly amidst the rubble. The stones felt drier now, the gilt bits of rubble sticky or crusty to the touch. Heat on his back, along the rest of his body. His face lifted upwards, towards the new sun overhead, a sun over a strange new Gondolin.

"Halyo!" A third voice called that day, but this one he had waited for since they had parted ways at the breakfast table.

"My darling Tirohtar," he smiled and stood. After some fumbling, his hands found the other elf's face and dragged him into a kiss. "I was worried."

"I told you on the Helcaraxë," Tirohtar chuckled, "we of the Innovation and Research department are always fine. Usually. With an exception or two." The other elf leaned past his husband to see the large pile of rubble. "You're not hurt are you?"

"No, but at least one person is under there, as is a cat."

"You saw them?"

"No, but I know they are under there."

The Noldo nodded, "hey,  Moralqua, could you go find Rog for me? We need him and his clan's help. Also send some runners to grab the rest of the High Council."

"You got it, chief," the elf took off, bounding now on hooves rather than feet.

"I am glad you are safe." Tirohtar pushed a long strand of hair back. "Once we get everyone out of the rubble, what's say we go home and have dinner?"

"Excellent, I picked up some lamb, and the eggplants should be ready to eat."

_Listeners, the rain of blood has ended, the dark cloud has passed over our fair city. Many of us have fallen. All of us have been changed. It has been a day of great change in our city. But perhaps it is not so different than any other day. For we are all transformed by our experiences. We are hurt and healed with the passing of time, and so today was really no different than any other day. All we can do is continue on as we always have, living in this beautiful place. Many of us shall sleep, and many more shall awaken to find the devastation. But that is for another time and place._

_Good night, Ondolindë, good night._

 


	2. A Wolf Howls in the Evening Air

_When a thought is born it grows like a weed, all consuming, and then like a weed it is plucked from consciousness, and replanted anew in another mind. We call this act speaking._

_Welcome to Ondolindë_

_Listeners, it has come to my attention that an emergency session of the High Council has been called to deal with the current situation. Notably absent from the meeting are Rog, who has begun recovery efforts with his clan in the Temple district and Lord Laurëfindë, who has become completely absent. If anyone knows of his whereabouts, please scream in terror. On second thought, better not, if only to avoid confusion with those now living in active terror of the sheep._

Turukáno pinched the bridge of his nose at the argument that now raged fiercer than the storm that until two hours ago ravaged the city. _Elenwë give me strength_ , he prayed before he spoke. "That's enough. If all we can manage to do is bicker and blame, then by all means cast yourself to the panic now consuming the streets." He snarled, teeth still aching from their sudden shift to fangs. It was only thanks to careful practice that he avoided lisping, which would have earned him ridicule from at least a few of his council. "However you are my council and we are here to formulate a plan. Our first priorities are securing water sources and rescue operations."

"And how exactly do you propose we manage that? The animals have gone mad, the plants have gone feral and the people aren't doing much better," snapped Egalmoth. The elf peeled off another strip of velvet from his new antlers and flung it at the waste basket.

Tulindo fired back at the Sinda, "we lead an expedition, the Discovery and Innovation team tracked the storm, we can use their findings to help us pinpoint the most likely spot for clean water."

Their king nodded, scratching at the edge of his crown. "Tulindo, have your people begin the search in the immediate area, springs, streams, all of it accounted for. Once I've debriefed the Innovation team that went into the mountains and they've recovered their strength, I'll have them join you."

Maeglin's low voice slipped in, "I can have my people help. There are many underground springs in the mountains."

He smiled, "very good, I'd like you to get on that as soon as you can."

The young elf nodded, before Aegthelion lifted a hand, "I'd like to volunteer my people to help with the recovery effort as well."

"Good," he nodded, "take your people and Laurëfindë- where is Laurëfindë?" At that everyone peered around the table, the jovial golden elf was nowhere to be found.

The warrior shook his head, "I haven't seen him since drill yesterday morning, we were to get together and meet for tea until this storm happened."

"Have your people go to the districts hit hardest," he glanced down at the notes that Galdor and Lutumo had compiled, "so far it seems the Temple District, and the Artisan District need the most assistance. If you can, detour through the Noble Quarter, rouse him from whatever slumber he's entered. If he doesn't respond, send a message back to the palace, I'll go talk to him personally."

Aegthelion nodded, "yes sir."

_A report from the fields, the farmers have arrived, and they are terrified. Not much terrifies a farmer, you have to know and do a good many things, which leaves little room for fear in the heart. They have taken their complaints to the Animal Care Guildhall in the east plaza. The alpacas have begun to breathe fire, thin spines marring their wool, while the horses' venom has scared the snakes invisible. The dogs are in a panic, two heads running blind with the third watching where they are going. But even the iron bulls and cows have come to fear the new apex predator of the valley, the sheep. Listeners, I don't need to tell you how truly dangerous sheep can be, with those bright rainbow coats, and those empty black eyes. Spawn of Morgoth to be sure. More on this story as it develops._

_Today in financial news, all banks are closed due to unforeseen calamitous weather. As such all commerce within the city has reached standstill. No word yet on how the hard earned coin of the people feels about this situation._

It occurred to Turukáno as the council dispersed that they would not recover from this crisis overnight. He had his council in order, but that would not stop the people from panicking.

_"And if they do panic? You must be the one to lead them. Even if you are afraid you must be their unshakable pillar."_

He closed his eyes, trying to focus on the advice, it had come from Elenwë before the crossing. Even if she still haunted his dreams, a cold hand, a dying gurgle, a face frozen beneath the ice, her words still brought him comfort. They had talked long during the trek to the Helcaraxë, the fears of their people only worsened by the Kinslaying. Their family had to be the unshakable pillar of the Noldor, even if that pillar had only two legs left. Thorondor brought him news of the wider world yes, but that did little for news of his brother. It had been far too long since he had seen Findekáno, far too long since his brother had taken up the burden of kingship.

As he strode back to his office, the King of Gondolin paused, hand on the knob. If something happened to his brother, the burden of all the Noldor would fall to him. A burden he refused to pass on to his daughter. Itaril, darling she was, deserved a life free from the shackles of a crown. As though his thought had summoned her, he watched a blur of gold, red, and white streak past him before skidding to a halt on the marble floor a few yards off. His daughter turned, smiling, "Papa!"

"Itaril," he smiled, "you're unharmed?"

"Yes! And did you see that?" She pranced over to him, drawing him into a tight hug.

He reciprocated the gesture. "See what?"

Her smile widened, "I believe I just outpaced your fastest horses."

"Have you now?" Turukáno couldn't help the worried tone that crept into his voice. "Where have you been?"

A long finger tapped her chin in deep consideration. "I've crossed most of the city by now, Rog's clan has already started removing the rubble in the Temple District. Apparently the buildings there collapsed on people. There's been no word of casualties, yet. The Animal Care Guildhall is overrun, and the animals have gone utterly mad. I've had no word of Telerunkë, though someone saw Laurëfindë retreating into their homestead, screaming his head off and clawing at his face."

"Anything else I should know?"

"The Artisan is flooded badly, apparently one of the building collapsed onto a fountain and cracked the piping. The sooner that someone fixes it the better, the Weavers' Guildhall has already evacuated their supplies, but their looms are in danger."

Turukáno heaved a sigh and hugged his daughter again, "thank you, you've done more than I could possibly have hoped for."

She cupped his cheeks, "Papa, you seem exhausted, get some rest."

He shook his head, and gently removed Itaril's hands from his face, clutching them in his own, "You shouldn't have to worry about me, it's not a child's job to look after their parent."

One hand freed, she pressed the tip to her father's nose, cold and a little wet to the touch, "And I shall tell all children that I see of this. I'm not twenty anymore, and if my Papa warrants a worrying, then by the Valar I shall give it to him."

Turukáno gave a reluctant smile, Itaril really did take after her mother.

_An interesting turn of events, listeners, as it would seem the location of Lord Laurëfindë has been tracked down by his Majesty, King Turukáno. He declined statement when asked about how he managed this, though current speculation places it on the recent improvement to his olfactory capabilities. Lord Aegthelion was seen approaching the House of the Golden Flower not ten minutes ago, and was solidly denied entry. I do not know what has possessed him, listeners, but whatever malady began by the rain that has afflicted our community, has rendered one of our most outstanding members useless. We can only hope he recovers soon. We can only hope we all recover soon. There is little I can do for us apart from what I have always done for us, and what I do for you now, as I take you, to the weather._

With a snarl of frustration, Turukáno slammed his fist against the door for the twelfth time in as many minutes. "Lauro! I know you are in there! Stop hiding and take command of your people! There is work to be done! We have no time for you to become a recluse!" His eyes cast to the now clear night sky, he knocked one last time, "Laurëfindë! If you do not open this door than I will open it for you!" He roared and kicked it, the wood splintered and the hinges bent. It occurred to the the king that his temper had gotten the better of him, apparently the hot blood of Finwë ran true even in the House's least standoffish members.

As he slipped inside, Turukáno noticed that all the shades had been drawn and the lights snuffed. A muffled wail came from the parlor, and he found Laurëfindë curled on the couch, a set of broken shears cast to the ground. "Lauro, where have you been?"

"Trying not to break anything else." He mumbled, "wait, how did you even get in here?"

"You're going to need a new door," the king seemed rather sheepish at that.

The warrior tilted his head back before he fell from the couch. "And I thought I had issues." He managed a chuckle, "have you seen yourself in the mirror?"

Turukáno growled but wandered to a mirror in the corner. He understood now why Laurëfindë had become frightened. The elf's head had twisted into a canine form, covered in thick dark fur, crown dangling from one ear atop his head. He plucked the circlet and turned it in his hands, "well that would explain why it stopped itching." He turned back to Laurëfindë, a lupine smile on his face, "and you thought that your whiskers were bad."

"It's not the whiskers... When it happened... I was in the training yard with the new recruits. I hit 'em upside the head... not sure if they'll live or not... called the healers, but with this rain..."

He nodded and sat beside the other elf on the couch. "You didn't mean to do it." He set a hand on his friend's shoulder, noting with some relieve that it appeared normal. "Maybe, when things settle down outside, you could ask Rog to help you maintain it?"

"Mmm," He swallowed, "that might be good. Your face is back to normal now."

"Is it?" He reached up to find it at least _felt_ normal. A quick glance to the mirror proved that yes it was. "That's a small relief in this tide of troubles." He stood up, "I'll send a runner to check on your recruit, if you feel up to it we could use you and your sister's help."

Laurëfindë found one of his hair ties and used it on the thick locks of his beard. "I'll be ready in a minute." The king nodded and made his way towards the door, "Your Majesty?"

"Yes?" the elf paused, hand on the door frame.

"Thanks." He smiled.

_Delightful news from the Noble Quarter, His Majesty, King Turukáno, has been seen leading Lord Laurëfindë from his house. They had since made their way to aid in the efforts to clear out the flooded Weavers' Guildhall. The moon has come to greet them as well, as it came to greet us all before, and, barring consumption by the Void, will continue to do so. The stars, ever the watchers since the days before we awoke, have come to find us changed. But as the changing of the seasons brings growth, so too does the changes we have all undergone. We are strong, Ondolindë, if we remember that we are not alone. To reach out to one another, to take hold and rise up together, it will not be an easy road, but when have we ever chosen what was easy, over what is right?_

_Good night, Ondolindë, good night._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In regards to the High Council, it didn't logically make sense to leave them all as 11 Noldor + 1 Man later, so a few have changed to make more sense with the diversity of Gondolin:
> 
> Egalmoth - Sinda  
> Rog - Green-elf (Lindi)  
> Tulindo - Lady  
> Galdor - Sinda


	3. Playing Midwife to a Tomcat

_Some days you eat the bear, some days the bear eats you, and on the fifth day of the month you and the bear take tea._

_Welcome to Ondolindë._

_Listeners I am coming to you from the Temple of the Valar, where several days prior, the events of the strange storm caused the western spire to collapse. A team from the House of the Hammer of Wrath has been called in to aid those trapped in the destruction. Today in traffic, the collapsed tower has caused massive delay at the north plaza. Or it would were anyone in any condition to actually do any shopping. The sheep have taken over the south fields and are currently engaged in a territory battle with the pigs, as the now armored pigs seem to be the only creature in the valley they cannot consume. If traveling that way proceed with extreme caution. Those rainbow fleeces belie hearts of coal._

Rog hefted another of the slabs out of the way and paused to wipe the sweat from his brow. He'd forsaken his shirt, to less scandal than when he had first met the Noldor. Those he knew seemed to have accepted that his people, the Lindi, lacked the same nudity taboos as those in Valinor. He tossed the rubble aside as a yowl rent the air. Ducking his broad shoulders under another piece, he opened a small alcove, a thin sheet of stone dust had pooled under the sleeping elf beneath, knuckles also covered in the stuff. Sitting on the elf's chest was a large grey tabby cat, bathing, with the occasional pause to complain about a lack of food. Recognizing the filthy elf, he wriggled into the narrow hole. "Ruvo, come on, wake up."

The Noldo sat up, "morning sex already?"

"You're not in my care anymore," he reminded, checking the other over, "you hurt?"

"No. Got worn out trying to get out."

Rog laughed, ruffling the dark curls to find two sets of small, pointy horns. "That's not like you being lazy."

Pityaruva picked up the offended cat, also smiling. "Your begetting day is in two weeks. You want this cat? He's both pregnant and put his best mousing days behind him."

"Pass," he shook his head, "thank you though."

"You're welcome."

"You may not be injured," the smith hefted the other elf through the tunnel to the surface, "but you should still see the healers, just to be safe."

"Fine," he sighed, coddling the cat. "Maybe I can find someone to help me play midwife to a tomcat." The handler waited for his former mentor to reply, "hey, Rog, midwife to a tomcat? Bad joke? Not even a groan or-" he stopped mid-sentence. The large elf had frozen, a blush on his scarred cheeks, staring at the newly arrived Aegthelion. A look of understanding crossed his companion's face.

_An update on the rescue operation at the Temple of the Valar, next week's report guest, Pityaruva, has been successfully removed from the rubble. Thanks to the efforts of Lord Rog, they seem also to be in the company of a cat. Ooh! A cat! Listeners have I mentioned how much I love cats? They are so full of life and vitality. Cats don't care about where you come from, or where your going. They enjoy a good scratch behind the ears and a warm lap. They also do not take grief from anyone, they know who they are and what they want, free from lies or delusions._

Rog extracted himself from the rubble pile, an unconscious hand slicking back the short red waves of his hair, before smoothing his goatee. He strode up to Aegthelion, the Lord of the Fountain instructing his people to relieve the elves who had worked for the last seven hours to clear the north fountain plaza. Said lord pivoted around as he approached, "wait- Lord Mahtan?! What in the name of the Valar are you-" his question was cut off when the smith pressed their mouths together. Aegthelion's knees went weak but he managed to place his hand's on the other's chest and push away. "Alright, you're not Lord Mahtan, but have we met? Also why are you naked?!"

"Not yet, my other half," he answered, "and it's hot, I never understood how you Noldor can stand to wear so much clothing."

As the warrior parsed through the meaning of that, his eyes fell on the strong arms now supporting him, black lines of what appeared to be ink ran along Rog's skin. A quick touch told him that they had since become black scales, matched to the copper scales that now made up the other elf's scars. "No shirt, not Noldor... big, looks like Lord Mahtan... are you Lord Rog?" At the nod, Aegthelion turned accusatory, "you know Turukáno has been trying for centuries to get you to come to the High Council meetings. You're helping run this city!"

It amazed the other elves watching the altercation that of all the things the Lord of the Fountain could be irate about, that seemed the most trivial. Rog shrugged, "I understand little of these 'politics', Turukáno and I meet, we tell one another what we need and what goes on, and we part ways."

"Fine, fine, but I barely know you! You can't just go around kissing people at random." He scowled, "Never mind standing this close on a whim."

"You're my other half." The smith replied simply.

"Milord," Pityaruva chimed in, "what Rog's trying to say is he wants to marry you."

"Marry... me... But we've just met today!" Embarrassed, Aegthelion stepped back, the smith let go, crestfallen. "Someone explain this to me, and use small words."

The small elf had set the yowling cat down on his discarded shirt before he trotted over. "So Rog's culture, their idea of courtship is finding the person foreordained by the One, observing them and then engaging in the explicit act of marriage. Rog, the reason he's so put out, is for us, we have this idea of courtship. From what you explained to me, it's like what you do post-marriage."

The large elf heaved a sigh, and scratched at one of his scars. "I see."

The warrior recovered his composure, until his mind returned to the kiss, and his cheeks heated up, knees weakening once more. "I will confess my interest in pursuing this matter further. Once the immediate crisis has passed. Lord Rog," he turned to the elf, "would you care to join me for dinner in three days time at my house?"

"I would be happy to do so." He brightened in an instant.

Aegthelion straightened his belt, swords jostling at his hip, "very well then, sundown, the Noble Quarter, the white house with the fountain out front."

"Sundown, Noble Quarter, Fountain House," He nodded.

Tirohtar, who had been moving more of the rubble out of the way to extract samples from the burn marks on the stone, paused beside the almost forgotten cat. The beast hissed at him, "my Lord Aegthelion, I don't mean to interrupt your escapade into Yavanna's blessings, but this cat has just informed me he has been in labor for the better part of an hour, and his comfortable perch wandered out from under him. He would like somewhere to lie down, and someone to murder."

Pityaruva sprang back to the cat's side, already kneeling beside him. "Rog get me another clean cloth, and some sort of container, preferably lined and big enough to hold cat and kittens. Milord, I'll ask to borrow a knife, and, some milk, goat or horse ideally." His eyes gave an anxious flick up to Tirohtar, the old stammer crept back into his voice. "I-I will need some surgical supplies; thread, needle, and candle. P-Please." The three elves blinked, "now!"

_I have just been given a gentle yet stern reminder to announce that the Valinor Refugees group, which I will remind you is the support group for elves who came to Ondolindë to escape abusive situations and their loved ones, is still on to meet next month. They have also handed me a form, which Tirohtar, darling, clever, Tirohtar has informed me is a list of their spirit healers. They will be offering special group and individual sessions for anyone in serious need of comfort and wisdom from the aftermath of the catastrophe that struck our city. In the meantime they have sent petition to the High Council to arrange for volunteers to assist the members of this community. They ask that those who have recovered swiftly and surely to extend kindness and compassion in these trying times, a hand in the darkness to raise one another up. In that same way, I shall extend my hand to you, through the darkness of these times, and as I lift these new kittens to the light, I lift you now, to the weather._

Aegthelion slumped onto the rubble, even as his lieutenant ran up, "Milord!"

"Yes, Angalen?" He cracked an eyelid at the elf who approached them.

His armor and joints creaked as he sat up again from what he had hoped was to be a brief nap. Rog also glanced up as they approached, then turned his attention to the five kittens, Tirohtar and Halyahendu had taken to nursing two each while he held the fifth. All of them held a clean cut of cloth that had soaked in the milk during their birth and were now lapping at it eagerly. The new parent had fallen asleep in the box, lined with what was left of both Rog and Pityaruva's shirts after he had tore them to shreds.

They cleared their throat, "milord, we've repaired the fountains in the area. There's only minor damage to the rest of the pipes. There's a riot down in the Noble Quarter, His Majesty has Lord Laurëfindë and Lord Egalmoth containing it."

"Has he requested us to move out?"

"No, his Majesty has asked that we stay here, equal parts patrolling and offering civilian aid." They shook their head, "I've got squads one through four running patrol, stopping looters, that sort of thing. Five through eight have set up relief stations, Varnasérë set up a field hospital a few blocks over."

He smiled at his second, "excellent work as always."

"Thank you, sir. Is there anything else you need here?" They saluted, though they couldn't suppress the smile on their face.

The lord nodded, "yes, I need a report from the South Fields, tell squad four that if things are quiet up here to head down and come back with news." He paused, "also Angalen, have you met Lord Rog?"

"Milord," Angalen saluted.

"Hello!" He gave an enthusiastic smile, even as he continued to feed the newborn kitten in his palm. "Would you like a kitten when they get a little older?"

"Uh, yes?"

"Good!" He nodded to Pityaruva, watching the freshest set of claw marks closing up. The elf paused in his stitching when he noticed the smith's glance. "That's three adopted out so far. Two more kittens and our new parent to go."

Halyahendu, drawn from his broadcast to feed a kitten as well, frowned, "Yaulë is mine."

Aegthelion heaved a sigh, before he let out a laugh. "The city is in chaos, riots in the streets, and here we are, nursing kittens, and playing midwife to a tomcat. Will the wonders never cease?" He stood up, "Rog, er, it was a pleasure to meet you, I'll see you for our date."

The other elf nodded, "three days time at your house."

The warrior smiled before he turned to his second. "Angalen, shall we?"

"Sir," they nodded, the pair set off.

_Chaos has consumed our streets and our skies, but it shall not consume our hearts. Listeners, even in the darkest of times, we may find joy and hope. Tirohtar is shaking his head at me and telling me to keep feeding the kitten. I realize that I have not kept to my normal integrity of the news with this day's events, it is some sinister power of the feline form that claws its way into a person's heart and makes them forget everything but the cat before them. However, I find, Ondolindë, that it is in fact the small joys that aid in the triumph over the darkness. We sit upon a field of destruction, yet from that rubble new life comes, often in unexpected ways._

_Also, we have two kittens available for adoption once they are old enough to be on their own. Anyone wishing to adopt them may stop by the Animal Care Guildhall in two days time to sign up. I leave you thus on this message of hope, a message that as these newborns' eyes open onto a new world, our eyes may open to the new possibilities. Do not give into your fear, Ondolindë, give in to your wonder, open your eyes and mind to the future. I shall return to my regular schedule of reporting the news as we return to the regular routines of our life._

_Good night, Ondolindë, good night._

 


	4. New Beginnings and Old Irritations

_Look up, observe the vastness of the creations of Varda. Look down, observe the efforts of the One Who Does Not Err. Look to the left, now the right; observe that your neck probably feels better._

_Welcome to Ondolindë_

_A bright and cheery evening to you, listeners. It's been a few weeks since the storm that rocked our community, and while the initial rioting has slowed, we have still not come out of our shock. Therefore I am coming to you from the north military training grounds. We have been out here since dawn, when a large group of the Farmers Coalition under the House of the Tree began a riot in the west fields. The soldiers from the Houses of the Golden Flower and the Fountain have taken charge of anyone with complaints at the south parade ground, while at the north training ground the Lords Egalmoth and Tulindo, along with Princess Itaril, have taken charge of assisting people with their changes._

Egalmoth rubbed his temple, "will someone get that elf out of my head? I've spent the last three weeks listening to him babble about how much he loves cats."

"I like him," Tulindo retorted.

"You would."

"He's the town crier, and he makes it interesting."

"So did the crier in Doriath. But she didn't need all of this esoteric ranting." He waved his hand around his head, until it tangled in his antlers. The elf growled. "Stop laughing."

"No."

"Fuck you."

Tulindo smiled, and stood, smoothing the pleats in her dress. "No."

"Arg! You!" He untangled his arm. He vaulted to his feet, dusted off his breeches and followed after his wife. "Why did I take you for my amaragoth?"

She tilted her head in mock contemplation, "because your people have this delightful concept of a mutual rivalry with a certain degree of animosity as the basis of a stable relationship." The elf laughed, "so it's your fault not mine. And until you've proven you are actually serious by courting me, it will never happen."

Muttering several insults under his breath, Egalmoth joined Tulindo and Itaril before the elevated platform. The assembled crowd bristled under the setting sun, most angry or scared, still reeling from the events three weeks prior. Even the members of their houses were in the mix. The two lords sighed as another scuffle broke out, an elf with long twisting horns and another with a thick ridge along their forehead had started to bash heads, literally. Itaril rolled her eyes, "why can't they all just move along."

"They're scared, Princess," Egalmoth waved his hand, "like building a fire. You put enough timber in one spot and throw in a spark, and poof, we all go up in smoke."

_The latest report from the south parade ground is that the Great Farmers Riot has been contained, the riot's leader, Taulion, you know, the Head Farmer, has discussed this matter at length with the King and Lord Galdor. All farmers have agreed to take on volunteers from the Animal Care Guild as well as the Discoveries and Innovations department to assist with their crops and livestock. In financial news, the banks remain closed, but a few vendors have returned to regular business hours. Exploded corn kernels are a silver for a bucket, and excellent with salt and butter, while tomatoes that change flavor with every bite are five for two silvers and selling fast. An update on the events at the north training ground-_

"Would you stop narrating what is happening in front of my face?!" Egalmoth roared, even as he broke up another squabble.

Back at the podium, Itaril turned to Tulindo, "ideas?" The princess asked, with her father busy at the south parade ground, it fell to her to organize the proceedings here. So far trying to talk everyone down hadn't worked.

"We need volunteers," the scholar considered, "people to start talking everyone through their changes, get them working together."

"Right." She took off, racing through the crowd, asking those who appeared calmest to make their way to the front and report to Tulindo. Most were eager to help, in part to return to their homes and return to as much normalcy as the city could muster. Itaril jogged up the stairs of the low bleachers by the sand pits, where Tirohtar had his notes in hand, scribbling vigorously while Halyahendu continued on with his report unimpeded, idly stroking Yaulë's head. The two unadopted kittens sat in a box next to him, asleep in an old tunic.

"Princess Itaril," the herald smiled, "how nice to see you, would you like a kitten?"

"A kitten?"

"Yes, we have two, and you are a good person. Would you like a kitten?"

She picked one of the sleeping kittens up, the tiny tortoise shell yawned. "Tiro, Halyo, I require your assistance." As the elf cradled the creature, she continued, "Tiro, I need you and Tulindo to start making accurate summations on everyone's changes. If we can figure it out, then we can start to help them. Halyo, I need you to tell everyone to proceed to orderly areas based on similar structures of their changes."

Tirohtar took his husband's free hand, "I have a hypothesis, if I can use mind speech while Halyo talks to them, I can make a diagnosis of everyone at once."

Itaril nodded, "do it. When you do give your notes to Tulindo, we'll have copies made and distributed to the Healers Guild."

"Right. Ready when you are Halyo," he smiled "Princess."

"Good luck."

"Would all persons with animal or plant characteristics proceed to the line on the left." Itaril shouted over the now calmed crowd. "Persons with elemental abilities proceed to the line on the right. Persons with enhanced fëa abilities move to the bleachers. Persons with un-categorized abilities please move to the platform."

_Listeners, this is a special part of today's show, we'll be using it to take notes on the changes experienced by the people in our community. Princess Itaril has asked everyone to stay calm, to remain relaxed. Picture a lazy late summer night, the stars overhead, in the middle of a field. The sounds of birds, or frogs, or bugs, or dread-wolves, or an elk in rut. Relax, listeners, let the smell of gentle summer flowers fill your lungs. The moon is your friend listeners, the moon will watch you while you wander the gardens of L_ _ó_ _rien... my apologies listeners, I yawned. What I need now listeners, what we all need now, is a nice early night nap. So while I cannot take you with me into the gardens, or wander through your dreams to see the thousand impossible things that greet you when you sleep, I can offer you this. I can offer you the comfort of my voice. I can offer you the comfort of my words. And I can offer you the comfort, of the weather._

Satisfied, she jogged over to Tirohtar, who had started to scrawl the notes onto the bleachers, using his knife. "What's wrong Tiro?"

"Halyo, he, um, he," the elf stammered as he continued carving. "He sent that to every elf in the city. I-I know everything! Everyone. It hurts. Please."

Itaril set the kitten back in the box before she knelt, "what do you need?"

"Need someone who can help, please. Make it stop." He tapped a couple of names on the ledge beside him.

The princess took off at a sprint, blazing over to Tulindo, "Tiro needs your help. I'm going to collect some scribes to begin copying down his notes, but right now he's sifting through the collective wills of the people who live here. Can you do something?"

"I don't know. But maybe..." She closed her eyes, considering, "I may have an idea."

As the princess ran, Tulindo made her way to Tirohtar, she knelt beside him and put a hand on his. "Tiro, listen to me, I need you to breathe. Close your eyes, focus on your breathing. Breathe in. Breathe out. In, and out, in and out." The researcher did so, his hand stilled. She smiled, "good, very good. You're doing so well. How do you feel?"

"Better," he smiled, then glanced to his husband. Halyahendu had curled up with Yaulë, the kittens now up and mewling to escape the box. "We promised one to the Princess," he nodded to the tortoise shell, "would you like the other?" The small grey tabby turned her wide blue eyes to the elves.

"I think so. Egalo hates cats. Would never harm one, just hates them." Tulindo picked the kitten up, "thank you, Tiro. I'll expect your report on my desk at weeks end, yes?"

Tirohtar nodded, watching her walk back to the crowd. He rolled his eyes fondly at his husband. Realizing that the town crier had fallen asleep on the job quite literally, the researcher cleared his throat as Yaulë clambered into his lap.

"People of Ondolindë, it's been a long three weeks, and I have no idea how to do this, there's a reason Halyo's the crier not me. But it feels strange to leave this unfinished. He usually ties the threads of the day together at this point, all the news and events, makes it into a neat little story of some sort." He paused to chuckle, "but I'm a researcher, not a writer, or a miracle worker, or a mason, or any other rumor that he may have spread. So my best estimate of this story is that we are better than we think we are, and we can work together to build great things. Also that my husband has some very strange ideas about what constitutes a relaxing summer evening. That's all I can really think of to say, so good night, Ondolindë, good night."

 


	5. The Valinor Refugee Support Group

_Welcome to Ondolindë_

_Listeners, I would like to begin with an apology, as during my last report I drifted off before I could finish. I am so lucky, listeners, so very lucky to have Tirohtar, an elf willing to go and continue the work of spreading the news to this community. Now, onto the biggest news of the day, the House of the Fountain has reported that they have completed their repairs and survey of the city plumbing and report that all lines are repaired. Which combined with the discoveries made by the House of the Mole and their springs in the mountains, ensure that all water in the community is now one hundred percent blood free. And now finance._

Aegthelion wiped the sweat off of his brow, "there we go. Maeglin, give it a try."

He opened the valve, the sound of rushing water filled the cavern. "It would seem the pipes are operating efficiently." He made a note.

The warrior glanced up at the narrow slit of sun that illuminated a dial on the cavern. "Oh no, I'm going to be late."

"Late? It's scarcely three in the afternoon," Maeglin replied. "There are no meetings on the agenda, including the planning for Tarnin Austa."

"It's- You know I've been thinking about asking you to join us for a while. An act of good faith and friendship." He smiled.

The miner tilted his head, studying the the other lord, trying to discern why he was doing this. Intrigued, he descended the ladder, "you have my curiosity. Lead on, Lord Aegthelion."

The pair made their way through the tunnels to the stables, the horses stood quietly as they made ready to run the gauntlet of the north fields. Most of the sheep had turned feral, and as such would attack anything they thought they could eat, lacking the sense of a natural born predator. It was risky business, fortunately there was a herd of alpaca close at hand. The fire spitting creatures scared off the flocks, and Aegthelion waved at the rancher for their generosity. Through the north gate, they made their way past the Temple of the Valar, now under renovation, to the Noble Quarter. Maeglin's thin frown grew as they approached the House of the Fountain near the palace. The gates stood open already onto the grounds and the front door was ajar.

They left the horses with the warriors household stable hands, and paused at the door. "If at any point you feel uncomfortable during this, you are more than welcome to leave. We're not a group who pressures people into anything."

"You make it sound as if you run a mystery cult as the Sindar do."

"Not quite, we're not a mystery cult, we're a support group." Aegthelion's smile faltered a little, "I can understand if you want to leave."

"What does your group support?"

"Eh?"

"You said you are a part of a support group. What does your group support?"

"Maybe it's better if you come in and see, this doesn't lend itself to lengthy explanation."

_I'd like to take a minute now listeners, to talk about cake and its relationship to pie. A cake is a dish that one eats on rare occasions, thus it is considered special. Cake is prized in its rarity. We dream, listeners, of eating cake. There is no reason for cake to be placed on this pedestal, yet we continue to do so. Pie, listeners, is the victim of this. As pie is less complicated than cake, we eat it more frequently. We undervalue pie because it is so common. Who wants pie? No one. Because we never appreciate its value. Cake listeners, cake gets all of the credit. As such we treat pie as meaningless, unworthy of mention. When asked between cake or pie, we say cake, not because of any inherent problem with pie, but because of the bias of commonality. If we ate cake with such frequency, I assure you, listeners, we would have the same problem. How do we solve this injustice? Absinthe. This has been, traffic._

Aegthelion waved at Rog and slid in onto the couch beside him, "you came!"

"Why wouldn't I?" The smith replied before nodding to Maeglin, "good to see you again lad."

"And you." The young elf gave a brief, too stern nod before he glanced around. A dozen elves sat in a circle, the furniture pulled from various parts of the house. All of the single chairs had been occupied, and the way the circle was arranged, there was little hope to find another and insert it properly to the bunch. An elf on the love seat slid over, and made a nervous motion for him to sit. He gave a short acknowledgement of the tattooed elf beside him, who returned it with a half smile.

Once they had all settled, Aegthelion nodded to Moralqua, and she cleared his throat. "Welcome everyone to Valinor Refugees, I see we have some new faces for tonight's meeting, so I'll go over the ground rules. First, this is a judgment free zone, anything you say, anything that happens, we will think no less of you for. Second, no interruptions, even if you feel incredibly passionate about something, we respect everyone's rights to say it, excepting the next rule. Third, if you say or do something that makes someone uncomfortable and they ask you to stop, you stop. You respect their right to say no, and their right to be comfortable."

After a glance of confirmation around the room, she nodded, "alright, so it's been three months since our last meeting, and I know we all have had a lot on our minds since the blood rain a couple months ago. If anyone has any feelings on that feel free to share them at any point during the meeting. Otherwise, our goal for this decade is getting out of our comfort zones and enforcing our boundaries. Would anyone like to share their progress?" Aegthelion lifted a hand, "yes, Aegthelion?"

"I got outside of my comfort zone recently, I've met someone, and his name is Rog. He's with me tonight, and I also enforced my boundaries when I asked him to explain why he wanted to court me. I am delighted to report he respected my wishes and my concerns." He gently nudged the smith in the arm, "I'm also pleased to introduce him to you all."

The group applauded this, smiles on more than a few faces. The elf on the love seat next to Maeglin raised a hand. "Yes, Pityaruva?"

"Um, I was able to ask for help from a member of the Innovation department, and I looked them in the eye while I did it, and I only stuttered once." He managed a half smile, "it's not that big but..."

"That's alright, every small step counts." The group clapped again.

The rest of the group remained silent, Moralqua smiled, "now is the time when anyone who wants to introduce themselves is welcome to do so."

Rog smiled, "Hello. I'm Rog, Aegthelion's other half. He asked me along tonight to meet his friends."

A murmured chorus of 'hello' followed. Maeglin closed his eyes, "I am Maeglin, and I too was requested here by Lord Aegthelion, but for what purpose I cannot yet discern." Another murmured round of 'hello' followed.

Moralqua looked down at her notes before continuing, "very good. I'd like to take a few minutes now to open the floor up, anyone who wants to share any thoughts they might have may do so."

A wide eyed and flighty Sinda raised a shaking hand, "I-I'm scared... I mean I got a dog tail and ears now. I keep thinkin' what my mum would say if she saw it. And I-I-" she trailed off, breathing heavily.

The group all took a slow series of breaths, and the Sinda followed suit, settling down. "Thank you, Faroness, does anyone want to respond to this?"

"I keep wondering what they'd do if they saw these," another elf chimed in, gesturing to the flowers growing from their hair. Soon the whole group had chorused in, save Maeglin and Rog with some variation of an old anxiety surrounding their parents. It occurred to the young miner, that his own father would likely have sawed the long curling horns from his head, and shaved the black ruff of fur from his shoulders. He shuddered at the very thought, and hunched in on himself. The group's attention flicked to him for a moment before they repeated the breathing exercise.

_Listeners, over the last month, we have known fear that is unique. Fear that grips, and digs in like a worm. It twists around through our bodies, and we jump at the very shadows on the walls. But fear is a fickle beast. It will not stop until every one of us has given in. It will not stop until it has eaten all of us. But fear always has a root. Fear of the past. Fear of the future. It is fear of the unknown and unpredictable. I ask you, listeners, give a name to your fear. Take paint and give it a face. Give your fear a body and name. But give your fear no mouth. Give it no voice to whisper into your ear. Give it no teeth to bite your spirit. For in the body there is weakness. In the name there is wisdom. Weakness and wisdom will give you victory over your fear. Take away the one true power your fear has. Only then can you claim to meet it and master it. Courage, listeners, comes not from the absence of fear, but the willingness to climb atop it and ride it into the future. A ride I take you now on, to the weather._

Moralqua took down notes on everyone's concerns. "We all seem to have a common fear amongst us, a fear of what the people who hurt us would do if they could see us now. I'm sure many other people in the city have the same concern. Now, everyone, I'd like you to imagine you're sitting with someone meaningful in a positive way in your life, like a best friend, and they have just told you the same fears you all brought up. I'll pass out some note boards, and I'd like you to write down what you would say to them."

Aegthelion stood then and silently went to a set of shelves in one corner of his parlor. He pulled out a dozen note boards and retrieved the small inkwells from their holders atop the shelf. He handed them to Rog to distribute before the warrior dug out a set of quills, all of which had seen better days but would still write. He handed one to Maeglin, who gave him a brief nod of gratitude before he turned to the note board.

It occurred to the miner, that he had no idea what he would say to his best friend if they brought him the fear that their father would saw and shave them if they saw them. Both because he had no one he could comfortably qualify as 'best friend' and because if they did bring this concern to him, he did not know much in the way of words of comfort. He nipped the tip of the quill, it sounded terrible and absurd in his head, but he pictured his uncle bringing forth the concern to him. What would he say if Turukáno told him his father was going to harm him? Having never met his grandfather, Maeglin sighed, without the full context and knowledge of the people involved... As everyone else passed their papers to the front, he scratched out three separate attempts and penned a sentence at the bottom before he passed his along.

Moralqua gathered the papers, shuffling them about and started to read them off. He watched the group then, trying to place the words given to the elf who wrote them, while at the same time taking notes of what others had said. "'I would offer them a hug and tell them that they are a kind and decent person, and that their gills make them an excellent prospect for dating among the Teleri.'" Aegthelion's eyes lit up at that, whether in delight or embarrassment, the miner couldn't say. "''Offer to break some heads and buy them some strawberries and clotted cream.'" Maeglin almost startled at the embarrassed half-smile from the elf beside him. He'd half expected that sentiment to belong to the strong, giant elf with an arm around the Lord of the Fountain. Someone that small and fluffy couldn't possibly be that mad. He pushed aside the thought as Moralqua came to his own paper, "'I don't know.'" He maintained a perfectly neutral face, even as the other lords glanced to him. "'Tell them to tell their parents to back off. And if they refuse, then leave. You owe them nothing.'" The last paper read, belonging to the wide-eyed Sinda from before, tail twitching at the sentiment. "All of these are perfectly valid responses. Did anyone want to offer response?"

Pityaruva raised a hand, "to the person who said tell them to back off and leave, I want to say thanks for putting it out there because I never thought about it like that before. My parents never respected my right to say no, but I never thought about just leaving because they told me I owed them everything. So, yeah, thanks." He retreated back into the cushions of the love seat.

At that Faroness followed suit, "um... to the person who doesn't know what to say, I'd say that's alright. People like us, we're sometimes good with helping others, but we're not so good at us. So someone in the same situation as you, I mean, it's alright to not know how to help them. I-I'm sorry I said anything."

Aegthelion also chimed in, "to the person who said 'I don't know', if it were me you were talking to, I'd appreciate that sort of honesty. Sometimes we don't know the answers, or make mistakes, and it's okay to let people see that, because it makes you a person that people can connect with."

The discussion continued for another hour about strategies to help friends and loved ones. By the time Maeglin stood and took his leave, he had three pages full, along with a list of the spirit healers in Ondolindë. The Sinda offered him a polite wave before she ran off, which he managed to return before making his own way home. It was only a short jaunt to his house, and he settled down at a windowsill, the starlight filtering in and looked at the pages of his notes. "Respecting people... not knowing everything..." It would be a long night, and he felt tea was in order.

_Welcome back, it would seem the world we live in has not been consumed by the Void as was foretold this morning when Yaul_ _ë_ _decided to use my chest as a scratching post. We return from the weather as we return from sleep, groggy, confused, but ultimately satisfied by life. Or that's what I would have said last time if I had not actually fallen asleep. Apparently perfect, delightful Tirohtar took the opportunity to finish delivering the news with all the aplomb and gravitas concealed within his smoky, oak and leather voice. Our next report will be a special one folks, as the High Council has assured me that Tarnin Austa shall take place. I shall take my place there, as will you, listeners, as will we all. Until the time when life calls us to supplicate that we are not the centers of our worlds, I leave you to your lives._

_Good night, Ondolindë, good night._

 


	6. Raise a Pint and Raise a Shout

 

_Silence. The silence of the voice. The silence of smell. The silence of sight. The silence of your life. When life gives you silence, reflect on why._

_Welcome to Ondolindë._

_The silence is at an end listeners and we break it with the hammer of our songs and our jubilations. We have past the silence that makes Tarnin Austa one of our most enjoyable holidays, and have moved into the revelry of midsummer that only we can. And with the silence broken, I give you the report I should have while in my own deep reflection of the endless ineffability of the Void. The big story today, Fanyaringa, Head of the Brewers Guild, has stepped down, due to a complete loss of smell and taste. Early reports say that Telerunkë, former head of the Animal Care Guild and younger sister to Lord Laurëfindë has optioned the spot, claiming she wishes to improve on her alcohol making skills. No word yet on whether she will be continuing the proud tradition of the Tarnin Austa Summer Celebration mead. Also no word yet on how the bees feel about this change of command. And now a look at the community calendar._

Lutumo sandwiched himself between Tulindo and Egalmoth with a smile, "oh come on you two, this is supposed to be fun!"

"I am having fun!" The both retorted.

He rolled his eyes and shrugged, "see, everyone else is having fun." He gestured around the festival in the grand pavilion. Small games of chance and skill had been set up in booths, along with food stands and at least a dozen different independent alcohol stands. Every pub in the city seemed to be vying for the largest crowd to try their latest drink. The group made their way to a particular booth with golden flowers on deep green banners. Lutumo bounded up to her, "Telerunkë! Telerunkë! Is it ready for public reveal yet?"

The elf looked up, her blonde hair flecked with brown. "No, it's not."

The Lord of the Tower pouted, "but I promised Tul ë and Egalo! Don't make me a liar!" He batted his eyelashes at her.

She rolled her eyes and motioned the three to follow her. "Fine, but I won't save your sorry arses when Lauro learns you got a taste of it before him." They disappeared behind the booth where the members of the Brewer's Guild directly in the service of the House of the Golden Flower had started to distribute their specialty drinks for the occasion. Behind the booth was a large tent full of kegs. At the back of the rows stood one small one. "This is what I've been working on. The larger cask of it is still fermenting, but I brought this for personal use. Drinking horns?"

Lutumo pulled out his elegant affair, wrapped in dyed leather and delicately carved. Tulindo's was a long straight black affair, save for the silver on the tip. Whatever creature Egalmoth had taken his off of had clearly not been the victor in many fights, despite it the massive size, judging by the scuffs patched over with silver and hematite insets. They waited while Telerunkë pulled the stopper and ducked her own in, then with a practiced ease filled all of them.

The scholar grinned and toasted, "May Lord Tulkas smile upon me and grant me an inebriation free from hangover. I take this toast in his honor!"

Tulindo took back her horn and studied the liquid, while her husband drained it all in one go. The deep amber liquid smelt of smoke and wood. She tried a sip and blinked, it was a sharp taste, and when she finished, a faint belch erupted from her throat, along with a faint wisp of fire, smoke slipped from her nostrils. "What is in this?"

"Just your standard barley base aged in hickory." Telerunkë grinned, which put worry to both Lutumo and Tulindo. "Plus a few experimental tricks I wanted to try. It looks like the Balrog's Belch is a success."

As she spoke, Egalmoth let out a brief burst of flame before he smiled, "Any chance for a second round?"

_It would seem things at the pavilions have really started to liven up. Yaulë and I have found a comfortable spot in front of the Viper's Bite Pub tent in the House of the Golden Flower's market. Feel free to come by and say hello, or to report any suspicious activity. In further news, a seat has opened up to take over the Animal Care Guild. All nominations for this post should be delivered promptly and in full to the secret squirrels or the iron bulls depending on which part of the city you are in. Your votes will be recorded, tallied and then burned. In the event of a tie, both participants will be thrown into a pit with one of the sheep. May Lord Námo have mercy on them in this trial._

_An update on financial news, Lord Egalmoth's House of the Heavenly Arch reports a one hundred and fifty percent increase in flow of money and products throughout the city. This is up from three months prior when no one had bought or sold anything for two weeks. The copper and silver coins are happy to return to circulation, decrying their earlier hording as a terrible fate to be locked in someone's purse. The gold is evenly split, half enjoying their return to freedom and half wishing to return to the eventual goal of cradling a dragon's voluptuous bosom while she slumbers. And now a look at traffic._

After a second round of the Balrog's Belch, they bade farewell to Telerunkë and headed out to the next set of pavilions. Egalmoth's step swayed, "have I mentioned how much I love Tarnin Austa?" He declared to the street as a whole.

"Yes, and you could stand to do less of it." Tulindo grumbled as she watched Lutumo flit from booth to booth ahead of them, downing and cleansing his horn with practiced ease. It irritated her to no end that the elf was both smaller than her and younger than her but managed to have tolerance of someone Rog's size. Egalmoth smiled and draped on her, "do you know how many knives I have hidden on me?"

He copped a feel of her hip and was rewarded with a right hook that laid him out on the ground several yards away. "At least six."

"Twenty-three." Came Lutumo's chirp before Tulindo stalked over to him. "You alright?"

She finished the last of her most recent round of mead. "Can I talk to you in private for a moment?"

"Of course," he smiled while Egalmoth staggered to his feet. They stepped a few yards away and the chipper grin faded from his face, "Tul ë ? Are you alright?"

The other High Council member swallowed down her last gulp, finally able to chug a glass without cutting her tongue on her fangs. "I'm not sure about this whole amaragoth thing. I know we've talked about it before, but, I will never understand this strange custom they have over here..."

His eyebrows creased before he scowled, "do I need to get Egalo to disappear?"

"What?! No, I am not having you start a kinslaying in Ondolindë, we just got through one crisis, I don't need another one to clean up after." She rolled her eyes, "I mean, it's more just that I've been trying to understand him but he won't extend me the same courtesy. Do you understand?"

"Why wouldn't I? I am after all this city's second most hopeless romantic, after Halyo." He tapped the edge of his horn to his chin. "Tell you what, how about I go talk to him?"

At his reassuring smile, she nodded, "I'd appreciated it. If you need me I'll be parked over at the Viper's Bite tent."

"You don't want to hear his answer in person?" He tilted his head.

Tulindo hesitated, studying her friend, "It's not that I don't want to, I just don't, I don't want to suffer the disappointment of finding out he is the most disgusting pile of pig shite in this whole city."

The other lord saluted, "thus my Lord Tulindo, I undertake the solemn duty of educating Egalo such that he becomes proper marriage material. Wish me success ere I die trying."

"Go, Luto, ere I kick you in the arse to make you go." She waved him off.

_Listeners, it would seem that a case of epic poetry has broken out in the gardens next to the House of the Golden Flower's pavilion. It would seem listeners, that the Lords Galdor and Egalmoth, accompanied by Rog have engaged in a contest of inebriated recitation. What began as a series drinking songs has escalated, into chaos and mayhem when, after leading the crowd in a rousing chorus of 'The Red Dragon Inn', the Lords began arguing about how the third stanza of 'The Great Hunter' in the night went, they began to recite poetry at one another. Apparently this is a commonality amongst both the Sindar and the Lindi, that disputes that are not severe or passionate enough to resolve via fisticuffs are resolved through poetic recitation. Rog has agreed to serve as mediator for this, though his contributions have also been noted for posterity. And so listeners, I shall offer my own version of recitation, my own epic poetry. A story that can only be told in the form of, the weather._

Lutumo waited as the crowd around Egalmoth and Galdor thinned, "Egalo, a word?"

The Sinda finished off the dregs from his drinking horn then nodded, "what did I do this time?" He frowned.

"I'd prefer to do this somewhere private, also put your shirt on, there are children about," the reprimand was half-hearted, as his tongue flicked out over his lips, admiring the other. Even with five sets of earrings worn openly, and as his shirtless state revealed, a set of silver rings with rubies, one through each nipple. The scholar shook the thought from his head, scandalous jewelry was all fine and dandy, but he had to do this for Tulindo.

Egalmoth shouldered his drinking horn before waving his lone hand in front of the other elf's face, "oi, Sparrow-head, you in there?"

"Huh? Oh yes," he nodded and guided them underneath one of the trees. "I need to have words with you, sir."

At that the other lord raised an eyebrow, "words with me?"

He puffed up, feathers out in an aggressive display, "yes. I respect that your people have this idea of a mutual rivalry as a basis for marriage, however it is something utterly foreign to us. Tul ë has been more than accommodating about this situation. But in exchange you need to show some patience and understanding. I realize this is a difficult prospect for you to comprehend, but where we come from, a relationship is based off of mutual willingness to learn about one another and come to trust them. Or do you forsaken heathens lack that as well." Lutumo realized full well that the last part of his rant would likely be his last words, but it was something important to say.

Teeth grit, Egalmoth growled, "don't patronize me tiny man, and call me a heathen again and I'll wear your feathers for jewelry." He squashed down his anger with some effort, before he continued, "so what does she want from me?"

"Try courting her, I'm not saying you have to give up how you two speak to one another, but take her out for a romantic walk, dinner, flowers, something. Let her know that this is actually going to be worth the effort to reciprocate." He sighed, "if not out of respect for her feelings, then at least out of some degree of self-respect. Or would you prefer to be alone in your house eating pints of strawberries and clotted cream crying because you can't woo anyone to your bed with your charms and wit."

A roll of laughter cracked the air between them, "keep talking like that and I may go for you instead."

"Sorry kitten, you're not my type." Before the other could respond, Lutumo chuckled, "antlers have never done it for me, besides, I don't know if I could accept only having bouts of vigorous copulation during rut."

Still laughing, Egalmoth clapped him on the back, "thanks, now where can I find her?"

"Viper's Bite tent, probably drowning her sorrows in their Sea Serpent's Sting," he waved back towards the pavilion.

The Sinda nodded and strode off. The first table in front of the Viper's Bite Tent held Maeglin, another Noldo, and a Sinda. "Oi, Maeglin, you seen Tulindo?"

The young elf blinked but nodded, "I believe she is still two tables over."

"Thanks, enjoy the party." Egalmoth grinned at him, not adding in the 'Elbereth knows you could stand to lighten up' he wished to. True to his information, he found the Lord of the House of the Swallow seated next to Halyahendu and Tirohtar, Yaulë now asleep on her lap, purring in his sleep.He pulled the chair out then flopped into it, "oi, Tul ë , need to talk to you."

"What is it?" She growled.

"I want to go out on this romantic date thing with you. Date me."

Her mouthful of alcohol caught for a moment before she forced it down, "You're joking. You actually want to court me?" Tulindo laughed, a light ringing noise, "you trying to date?"

His cheeks colored, "yes, now date me."

Downing the last of her drink, she pointed the lip of the horn at him, "since you're so eager, tomorrow afternoon, after the Council meeting, let's see if you can actually look reputable rather than a looking for a scandalous liaison in a back alley with a Second-Born."

"Fine," he huffed. "I will be the best dressed elf you have ever seen in your life."

"I look forward to it."

_As the day fades away once more, so do we fade away once more into the mundane. The time of celebration has passed, our time together draws to a close. We will go on about our normal lives. But it occurs to me listeners, that in my revelry, I have to wonder, what is mundane? What is normal? Why do we strive for the doldrums of continued, average existence? Is normal the satisfaction of waking up to do the same thing day after tedious day? Is it seeing the same people time after time? Or is it that all life is 'normal' and 'mundane'? I pose to you listeners, that we should not be normal, we should not be mundane. Normal is for those with fears of change, normal is for those who do not know what comes after a storm. Mundane is an illusion created by the gaps in the extraordinary that blindfold us when we cease to pay attention and- Listeners! Tiro, darling, delightful Tiro has declared he is cutting me off and taking me home to sober! And so listeners, with an open heart, and an empty stomach, I say unto you as I have always said unto you._

_Good night, Ondolindë, good night._

 

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[(The chapter title comes from the song.)](http://goblinhovel.bandcamp.com/track/dragon-flagons)

Wow thanks to everyone's support for this fic. I wouldn't have started posting it, without the support my fabulous amazing girlfriend, [ingenious_spark](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ingenious_spark/pseuds/ingenious_spark). If you haven't read her fic Much Ado, I recommend it. This is the end of the "Immediate Aftermath" arc, so stay tuned! More characters, more conflicts, and a happy ending of course, tragedy tomorrow, comedy tonight!

 

 


	7. Scherzo and Trio

_A life lived once is beauty. A life lived twice is rebirth. A life lived any more than that means that someone has drawn the ire of Lord Námo._

_Welcome to Ondolindë_

_Listeners, time is a strange and curious thing. It seems only yesterday that we had been soaked and reborn into this world anew. Instead it is now behind us, a faded glimmer in the eternal pool of the Void, growing dimmer with the decades. And now a look at the community calendar. Elenya is the annual Ondolindë Bake Off, where culinary geniuses will do battle upon a field of dough and sugar. Anarya is the bi-monthly open complaints day in the Court, anyone with complaints may take them directly to the High Council. Isilya is a lie someone told you so you would leave them alone. Ald_ _ú_ _ya is a free concert from those in the House of the Harp, including a special showcase by their new full members. Menelya is a distant memory, forgotten before it can be recalled, distorted by age and weariness. Valanya is the moment when you awaken from a dream, only to forget when you fell asleep to begin with._

Salgant frowned at the massive barn that functioned as both the Animal Care Guildhall and the Brewer's Guild storehouse. As he shoved the doors open, his free hand grabbed one of the runners, "find me the master of this guild now, I would have words with them." The elf's eyes widened and they scampered off. Over the last twenty years he had learned to make his now perpetually strained voice sound intimidating. Not a day went by that he didn't curse the blood rain that had robbed him of his voice and career. The lines of stables were full of injured, ill, or otherwise incapacitated animals. He found the head of the Care Guild trailing a line of complaining elves, "there you are boy, my horse was supposed to be re-shod and returned three days ago. And now I'm late for practice thanks to this." He snapped, voice cracking as he did so.

Pityaruva spun on his heel to fix the crowd, Salgant included, with an angry glare that had been honed on the sheep. "You'll forgive me Lord Salgant, I am in the middle of fifteen things, all of them annoying." He took a deep cleansing breath and continued, "your horses will all be returned to you as soon as we receive the next round of horseshoes, which will not happen until the House of the Mole finds a new vein of iron, to be processed and honed and then distributed amongst the smiths. Until then, you all can go throw yourselves to the sheep for all I care, or you can all stop getting your breeches in a bind and just walk!" With that he turned his palms towards himself, thumb, middle, and ring fingers extended, before he stormed off.

That through the Lord of the House of the Harp for a loop, no one in Valinor, and certainly no one in Gondolin, amongst the Noldor, Teleri, or Vanyar had ever spoken to him in such a fashion. As he stormed out of the Guildhall, Salgant composed himself, after all it would not do for the famed master singer and harper of the original College of Troubadours of Valinor to behave in such a manner. Lord Makalaurë had disgraced himself on that, his star pupil had fallen to his family's hubris, and it was up to him to provide an accurate catalogue through art of all that transpired.

He set out back across the city to the College of Troubadours in the Artisan district. The elves at the reception desk stood as he approached, "Lord Salgant, welcome back."

"Thank you," he nodded, "are we ready for the rehearsal?"

"Yes sir, they're just waiting on you."

"Good." With that he set off towards the main rehearsal hall.

_A shadow appears in the corner. A whisper appears in your ears. "Heed me," it rasps, "heed me." You try not to heed it. But you cannot look away. Its voice has slowly eaten you from the inside. "I know what you want. You want what you cannot have." You refuse to admit it. This shadow bears all knowledge as false. This creature cannot offer you what you cannot have, but the sound alone tempts you. Nails drag on the stone walls. Nails drag on your stone skin. You wish, you pray that this shadow gives you everything and takes from you nothing. But this can never be the case. "Heed me," it rasps again, "heed me." You listen, the shadow creeps up through your soul to make a home in the skin you once wore. This message brought to you by the Viper's Bite Tavern, stop in for Happy Hour at midnight to hear live music._

The Lord of the House of the Harp strode to the conductor's podium and smiled, "is everyone warmed up and prepared for today's rehearsal?"

"Yes sir," Faroness nodded, her tail flicking back and forth nervously. "The second violins did have some questions about their part though."

He nodded, "of course, what is it?"

She bit her lip for a moment, steadied herself, and continued. "Some of the notation in the third movement of "A Tribute to the Monsters in our Beds", I'm not sure if this is a copy error or what, but it says to play with the back of the bow."

Salgant flipped open the master copy of the score and checked his notes, "no, that's correct, for the Trio section specifically, I tested it personally and their instruments shall not be harmed by this. Any other concerns?"

"N-None sir, least none the people have brought up to me."

He nodded, "that's good to hear, you've done excellent work as my new concert master." Salgant ascended up to the platform. His new piece of orchestration would premier as part of a larger festival celebrating the induction of the new members of his House. The overall theme for the night was "Nocturnes and Preludes", featuring a piece specially requested by the King and his friend Galdor, a combination of Sindarin spoken drama and Noldorin comic opera. This showcase piece had been penned by him, with input from his new concert master, titled "The Curious Incident of the Afternoon Rain", it was intended to be a lighthearted, whimsical take on the blood rain twenty years prior. What followed instead was a tragedy, featuring revenge, backstabbing and one person's despair.

The orchestra settled as he stepped up to the platform and took up his baton. "I trust you are all warmed and prepared."

"Yes sir," came the chorused reply.

"Good, now, as I recall yesterday we were having difficulties with the second movement of "In Your Heart Shall Burn", I realize this is a new piece to our Sindar friends, so I'd like you all to remember that this is at a slow pace, even though it brings back themes from the first movement. Now," he raised his baton, and began to give the beat.

Orchestral rehearsal went well afterwards, most of the discrepancies in the music settled, save for the one caused by the missing second oboe, who apparently was tending his parent after they were mauled by a sheep. That seemed as good a reason as any so Salgant let it slide. After all, he would pity anyone who was attacked by one of those monsters. The instrumentalists finished their work and with the last round of questions answered, he sent them all to their other duties. The chorus filed in as they left, and he swallowed. The former singer hated choral practice, but this was too important to pass off to one of his assistants with their performance only a few days away. The first half went smoothly, until he heard the baritones go flat on a passage of their new chant.

He called the chorus to a halt, "baritones, what are you doing? If you look at the notes you will find the pattern is supposed to ascend at the end, not stop from a brick to the face." He sang it for them, only when he tried to reach for the same note, his voice completely cut out, with a faint squeak. A few of the younger chorus members smiled but he silenced their laughter with a glare. The gestures slipped from their faces as though hit by a wet rag. "Now, let's try that again from 'And the night is long'."

_An update on an earlier story, Lady Telerunkë, head of the Brewers' Guild, and Taulion, you know, the Head Farmer, have announced a new partnership between their two guilds to bring us a new beer. They shall be premiering it at the music festival, so look forward to that listeners. I've tasted it, and believe me, the pain of your pitiful, meaningless existence within the eyes of the void has never tasted so good. Especially with the aftertaste of bitter loneliness on the back of your tongue. In traffic, there is nothing to report, nothing at all. Listeners, I am perplexed. It seems no one at all is on the streets of our fair city. I suppose all roads are clear, but listeners, I would proceed with caution as- oh no. Listeners, this is an emergency, a flock of sheep has been spotted escaping from the south fields and have reached the city. Do not, I repeat, do not leave your homes, lock your doors, hide your valuable proteins! I do not know what safety I may find, but I leave you with the safety of, the weather._

He ended practice early that day, in part due to the fact four of the violins had broken strings attempting the last glissendo of the fourth movement, and the concert harpist had cut themselves trying to keep up. Salgant bade his people farewell and set out to the place he frequented on days like this. The only sound was the wind through the buildings and trees as he made his way down the deserted promenade. A shadow caught the corner of his eye, and he spun to look at it. Laughter caught his attention, accompanied by a strange desire to find out what it was. The musician gave chase down the side street to find a small child with gold eyes, cat slit, and pale gold hair.

"Didn't you hear the report little one? There are sheep about." He cautioned with a sigh of relief that it wasn't one of the rainbow horrors.

The child smiled, "don't worry about me. I'm here to help!"

"Help? Help how?" Salgant frowned.

"You can hear me!" They reached up for him, "no one's been able to see me in a very long time."

He took the child's hand, "it's alright little one. Let's get you home."

"I can make you better," they smiled, "I can give you back what the sad day took from you."

"Really?" the musician tilted his head, skeptical that a child could even do such a thing. The child smiled, a distant, dreamy smile, "where are your parents?" As he spoke the sound of his voice changed, dropped back to the deep baritone he had forgotten it had once been. "Is that- did you do that?"

"Yep!" They smiled, "I want to make you happy! Because then you'll play with me! Won't you?"

"Of course I will," he smiled, "perhaps I can teach you a few songs too."

"I'd like that. I have to get back to my friends," the child grinned, "but we should play together some time." With that the child let go of his hand and took off into one of the community gardens. Salgant gave chase after them and frowned as he rounded the corner into the sunflower patch.

One of the caretakers looked up at him, "have you seen a small child come through here? Gold hair and eyes, cat slits?" His voice returned to the cracked, aching tone.

"No milord," he shook his head, "you're the only one that's come in since the all-clear sounded."

Salgant rubbed his temple, "thank you for that."

"Are you feeling alright milord?"

"Yes," he nodded, "yes I'm fine." The musician left the garden and turned back to his path to the Viper's Bite. He found Galdor in their usual corner table, two pints of the house brew down. "Sorry I'm late, long day."

"Ach, I ken, you've got that concert and all," Galdor's foot shoved the chair out for him to sit. "You alright? You look like you've seen the shadows ridin' around you."

"In a manner," he shook his head, "but I think I'm just overworked. Next round's on me."

"Right," the Sinda grinned. "Come on then, sit yer arse down and drink yer Valar forsaken beer."

_Well listeners, I have to say I am in awe of our community. Not that I do not consistently find myself struck to the bone in breathless delight by the people of our city, but sometimes it is a much more tangible feeling. Having one of the sheep bearing down upon you, only to have the love of your life sweep you from harm's path, while the daring heroes of the Animal Care Guild's Emergency Response Team rush to your aid is more than enough excitement for this day, or any day. But listeners, it also occurs to me that sometimes it is the quiet that we should treasure. Hold those little moments with your family close. Hold your loved ones closer. For change comes when we are least prepared for it. It does not do, listeners, to brace for change, all we may do is wait, patient and perceptive, for change to devour us whole, willing or no. It is how we have always lived. It is how we will always live._

_Good night, Ondolindë, good night._

 

 


	8. And the Rain is Falling on Bluestem Tonight

_Eternity is not found in words or thoughts. Nor is it found in deeds or songs. It is found only through a common memory, distorted in the retelling._

_Welcome to Ondolindë._

_As all of you are aware, ten thousand of our city have left, to join the call of battle, and I have done my best to deliver all of the important information from it. However, listeners, I cannot in good conscience give myself over to deliver the news as it is now. It is a black day for all of us, for one of us. In light of this, my usual method of news delivery would be inconsiderate. I shall therefore take myself from your minds until we have grieved. And so, listeners, I leave you to the silence of the Void, and the silence of your thoughts._

Turukáno stared at the crown in his hands, seated away from his host, shoulders hunched, as the thin, crescent moon illuminated the twisted silver, sapphire, and topaz. Another sob wracked him, just when he thought he had run out of tears, another wave escaped him.

Elenwë was dead.

The love and light of his life, everything he had ever hoped and dreamed for, someone who made him believe he could be better than he was. A face full of joy and hope, warm to touch and to kiss. A face frozen beneath the ice, even as he tried to reach her, thin lines of blood swirled in black water. A face cold against his own, even after his father told him it was over. A face he would never see again. She was everything, and he had failed her. The way he always failed it seemed.

Arakáno was dead.

His tiny, precious brother, that was what Arakáno would always be, even full grown, tall as their father. He had clutched Findekáno and Írissë to him as they had mourned, their father silent and tall, even as tears streaked his face. He remembered his little brother's smile, undaunted even on the ice. His brother, who had sat with him, bouncing Itaril on his knee as they continued crossing. His fists clenched, Arakáno deserved better than that.

Írissë was dead.

The thin streak of blood ran across his face. His heart froze mid-beat, even as he felt rage consume his spirit. His spirited sister, struck down, taking a blow meant for him. He should be dead. Not her. Not his Írissë. He didn't blame his nephew. But having the vile creature that hurt his sister, killed her, thrown from the ramparts was one of the few moments he would not regret. Maybe if she had been alive, he could have done something more, rather than flee back to his city like a coward.

Ñolofinwë was dead.

It had come as a shock when Thorondor arrived and told the tale of his father's final days. He had died to give a glimmer of hope to the world. He had died a hero. He shouldn't have died. His father had been the leader his people needed, wise and strong. He had kept the Oath in check, kept their family's tension from resulting in another Kinslaying. There was no dispute that he had performed the role of King admirably. A legacy he could never live up to.

Findekáno was dead.

The smell of his brother's flesh, still smoldering when they pulled what was left of him from the battlefield made him gag anew. It was over. Findekáno could hold the Fëanárions in check. The sound of Maitimo's broken scream, someone pushed over the edge beyond all reason and hope. It had taken three of his brothers along with Aegthelion and Laurëfindë to pry Findekáno's body away. Without his brother, he was sure Maitimo would give himself over at last to the same madness that had consumed Fëanáro. And there was nothing he could do to stop them.

What was the point?

He could list off more names of his family, Findaráto, Aikanáro, Angaráto, Ambarto... Finwë. His family was unraveling around him and he could do nothing to stop it. His people had started to unravel around him and he could do nothing to stop it. Why have a High King if there was no one left to justify his kingdom? Why have a High King who would return to hiding, cowering in the shadows waiting for the end to come crashing down around him? He took the crown and threw it, listening to it clatter amongst the stones.

His own people had barely spoken to him on the ride back. Aegthelion and Laurëfindë hadn't been able to bring themselves to even look him in the eye. They had come with him to his city at the request of Findekáno, ever worried after his younger brother.  _"My brother wouldn't know which end of a sword to hold, keep an eye on him, please."_ That had been his brother's plea when he had announced to his family he would be leaving, even if it pained him not to say where. Lord Ulmo's warning had proven false, a hidden city did nothing to stand against the darkness, it just delayed the inevitable.

"Turukáno?" A voice asked.

Only one elf in his retinue would address him so bluntly. "Yes, Rog?"

"You want to talk?" The elf rounded the corner, war hammer slung over his shoulder.

"Must I?"

"No." He sat down near enough to the other elf to provide companionship while leaving ample room for the ruler to flee. "I just came here to get some air."

A bloodshot blue eye turned to the smith. "Why?"

"My husband and Lauro needed some time alone, so I gave it to them."

"Ah. I see."

Silence fell between them, Turukáno still succumbed to the infrequent fit of crying as the moon sank down in the sky. Rog had taken to humming under his breath as he watched the stars, a faint noise that made the king's ears twitch, curiosity winning out over his grief. "I've never heard you sing, nor am I familiar with the tune."

The smith paused, "it's an old song of mourning for our people. I sang it even after the yrk tried to beat it out of me when my clan rode to the black."

It occurred to the king that he didn't know any good mourning songs. Nor did he allow himself to be seen grieving. Something in the elf's words though gave him pause though. "Would you sing it for me?"

"Of course."

Rog's voice rose amongst the stones, a low baritone as he sang. The ruler's head lifted, a mournful, on key howl joined in. After the smith finished, Turukáno continued to sing, voice strong and sure as he picked up the thread. It was faint at first but the sound of a flute joined in the song, growing stronger until Aegthelion wandered up, his war flute in hand. He had heard the song before, the king guessed, as he picked up on the tune. The unfathomable black and blue of the night sky had frayed in the east when they all came to a close. He sighed, "I miss my family. Thank you, both of you, for that."

"Happy to help," the bearded face lit with a faint smile, "you take all of the time you need. We're clan after all."

"It'll be alright," Aegthelion drew the flute from his lips, "we'll all support you, you're more than our leader, you're our friend. I doubt many leaders could claim the friendship of those they command."

"I-" hesitation choked his voice, "thank you. I swear, I shall do my best to carry us through this."

The warrior tilted his head, eyebrows arched, "don't push yourself, please, your Majesty. No one will begrudge you your mourning."

"Won't they?" A bitter smile crossed his face, even as he wiped away more tears.

"They won't," the Lord of the Fountain reassured. "No one worth anything would begrudge their friend a chance to mourn their losses. It's been difficult for a very long time, and I know, I mean, I believe that Findekáno wouldn't want his cry to go in vain."

Turukáno's eyes fell to the eastern sky, the first rays of sunlight crept over the mountains, "the day shall come again." Another faint, bitter chuckle, "of course he leaves me the road that leads to the new day. He never could finish anything without mine or Maitimo's help. Big brother," he tilted his head to the sky, "if you can hear me in the Halls, then know that I shall take up this task you've left me. Also know that someday you'll have to finish something you start. Or so help me I will find some adequate punishment for this, something to rival what you did to our dear Findaráto." His attention returned to the other two. "We ride in an hour, if you'd go rouse the camp please."

"Your Majesty," Aegthelion bowed, even as he tried to suppress the smile that the memory brought up.

Rog gave him one last look of concern, but the king waved him off, "I shall join you there, I seem to have misplaced my crown."

The smith nodded before he and his husband took their leave. Turukáno swallowed and stood, dusting off his armor, even though it was a lost cause. "I swear that if I should meet my end, then I will make such an end as to be worthy of you all. And I swear I shall carry your memory in me until the end of my days. This I promise you." With that he walked a few paces, took up his crown and set it atop his head, "hear me now, the day shall come again. _"_

_Listeners, it would seem that the guards who remained have reported to Lords Salgant and Lutumo that the army has returned. And thus life finds a way. As a small weed in the cracks of a street, we return to find the sun awaiting us, full of warmth and compassion. As a lost fawn again finds the herd, we welcome us home, to life and joy yet untapped. The past shall forever loom behind us, the unseen predator, but the future looms just as large before us, ready to submit to being the gentle and ever changing present._

_Good night, Ondolindë, good night._

 

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(If you're curious what Rog is singing, follow [this link](http://www.bettmanandhalpin.com/music/) and listen to "Bluestem".)

 


	9. The Quarantine Park is Frightning in the Dark

_If you have a problem, no one may solve it. For in the unraveling of the threads that tie the universe through chaos and despair, we unravel the traits that make us._

_Welcome to Ondolindë_

_Listeners, it would seem today is a strange and unique day in our city, more so than most. The watch on the outer gate has reported that two people have been seen approaching the city. The early reports indicate that one is Firstborn, the other, listeners, the other is Secondborn. Imagine that, a Secondborn on their way to visit our humble city. Oh I wonder what they are like, these other fascinating people created by the One. I was unable to get a word with them when they previously visited the city, so my knowledge of them remains, as ever, mere hearsay. Until they arrive though, we can only speculate. More on this story as it develops. And now, a look at the community calendar._

The seventh gate opened, the city in the full bloom of the flower festival, Voronwë glanced back at Tuor. "How are you holding up my friend?"

The human sneezed, wiping his nose again on his handkerchief, "all of these flowers, making my allergies act up."

"You never did explain what those are." He adjusted his pack as they followed the pathway through the fields towards the city. "I take it this is a Secondborn problem?"

"However could you tell," Tuor deadpanned, even as he sneezed again. "Why are there so many flowers?"

"This is an incredibly fertile valley, the winter snows make the streams here very clear and plentiful. So the flowers grow wild and thick." He explained. "Though why the flowers seem to be whispering is beyond me, as is the whistling of the grass."

"I don't know, just get me out of here." A third series of sneezes nearly bowled the Man over. Voronwë rolled his eyes and hefted the smaller being over his shoulders. "Would you put me down? I look like you hunted me!"

"Then quit trying to expel your brain out your nose," the elf replied, also deadpan as his friend.

Tuor frowned, "I can't help it, it's an involuntary ac-ac-achoo!" He sneezed a fourth time, mucus dripped onto the Noldo's shoulder. He glanced around, a brightly colored, horned head popped up from the grass. The orange sheep studied him, and the human studied him back. "Hey, Voronwë, look at this, this sheep is orange!"

At once the mariner froze, "shit." His eyes swept the field, they had rotated the containment zones since the last time he had seen the city. Trust his terrible sense of direction and desire to take a short cut. When he finished mentally kicking himself, the elf guessed there was a flock of five, the decoy Tuor had spotted, plus another pair he could hear. The other two had probably gone prone, ready to herd them to the kill point. They had grown more cunning since the last time he had been in the city. Slowly his head twisted to the right, the bright purple fluff of another sheep just to their left. "Clever girl..." He took off at a sprint, adjusting the human as he ran to sling him over his shoulders.

"What's going on?" Tuor managed as they ran.

"Sheep. I count five, possibly more."

"They're sheep, what harm could sheep b-b-b-" a sneeze interrupted the sentiment.

Voronwë shook his head, "these aren't normal sheep. Wicked creatures spawned from the blackest pits they are. Almost lost my leg to one when his Majesty sent us from the city." He managed as they avoided one of them as the creature lunged. The human's stomach lurched as his face narrowly missed the mouthful of bloodied fangs soaring past it.

_Listeners, I have just been handed a public service announcement from perfect, beautiful Tirohtar, the House of the Golden Flower, the House of the Heavenly Arch, and the Animal Care Guild's Emergency Sheep Unit, to review the safety measures and animals of the valley. Horses are never to be looked in the mouth, the venom glands are located in the upper thigh, to disable them offer sugar cubes. Alpacas must be broached with caution, and should be treated with respect. Do not give them alcohol if you value your eyebrows. The iron cows and armored pigs may be reasoned with as one might their sensible kin. Bribe them with alfalfa and witness your dreams come to life. The birds require a handler permit, available for seven silver at the nearest Office of Administration, though beware that they may be more than you bargained for yet. On the whole one need not fear the reptiles, they are infinitely more terrified of the Void and the yesterdays that never were than they are of you. Listeners are also reminded that people are not permitted in the sheep parks, dogs are permitted in the sheep parks as they are the sheep's favorite food. Thank you for your cooperation and understanding._

A silver flash skidded to a halt next to Tuor's face just as another sheep lunged for him. Without any words he was passed from Voronw ë 's shoulders to the arms of another. This person, lady he guessed, smiled down at him as she cradled him. "Aren't you adorable?" She grinned, "I'm going to keep you."

"Wait what?" The human managed before she took off, and he felt as though he were borne by the fleetest of horses, footfall light and sure through the flower fields. The thought passed as he sneezed again, wiping his nose on his handkerchief. He hazarded a glance around her arm to find Voronwë surrounded by sheep, save for another elf staring down the flock and shouting all manner of obscenities at them. "Is Voronwë going to be alright?"

"Yes, I keep telling Papa to have Halyo announce when the quarantine zones are moved, or at least have signs posted, but he's been so busy of late..." She shook her head, "my apologies, I should introduce myself. Itaril Turuk á niel, of the House of the King, and you?"

"Tuor, son of Huor, milady, and I'll thank you for the re-re-" these allergies were starting to become a serious problem in his opinion. They came to a halt outside the market gates of the city. "I thank you for the rescue."

"Happy not to lose another person to those monsters," Itaril grinned, "I take it you'll want to see my father once the team brings Voronwë in?"

"Please," he nodded as she set him down, head tilted up at her, "if I may say so milady, you have the most radiant eyes."

She chuckled, "I bet you say that to most of the Noldor."

"I mean it, I most sincerely do," he bowed, trying to makes a sniffle. "Why are there so many flowers?"

Itaril gestured to the massive fields between the Hidden Gates and the city proper. "It is the Festival of Flowers in a few days time, a celebration of spring and its beauty." Her attention returned to the human, his face blotchy beneath the scruff of stubble. His eyes watered and he sneezed again, "are you feeling well?"

"I feel like I'm dying," he replied, forgetting that this was not Voronwë he spoke to, as the mariner was quite used to his off kilter humor and use of idioms.

The elf's eyes widened as the Emergency Sheep team rode up, "this Secondborn requires healers immediately. I shall take him to the palace at once."

"Yes, your Highness." The team saluted as the gates opened to allow them safe passage. Sprinting up the pathways and stairs of the city, Tuor again in her arms, Itaril made good time on return to the palace. Her father stood on the top steps, accompanied by Maeglin and Aegthelion. "Move!" She shouted, and without any further fuss the trio parted and allowed clear entry through the doors. "We'll be in the healer's wing," the princess called down the hall as she pressed on.

_I am not amused listeners, and with good reason. Apparently our newly arrived Secondborn hovers on Lord Námo's doorstep, and may or may not survive the day. It is with the heaviest of hearts I bring this news, for I do not relish in the delivery of obituaries. I delight in them even less if I have no knowledge of the person. It is rare for someone to die in this city- hold on a moment listeners, a message for the family of Informant Aeglirion, who was out on assignment, bringing in information on the mysterious cave in the mountains, which opened up last month, and has disappeared out of space and time. To the family of Informant Aeglirion, my sincerest condolences and he will be missed. Now, where was I? Oh yes, the Secondborn hovering upon the doorstep of Lord Námo. It is a terrifying and difficult prospect, death, so, my beautiful listeners, I leave you for a little while to learn what I can of this Secondborn at his passing, but I do not leave you alone. I leave you in the gentle, volatile tones, of the weather._

Tuor was released from the healers after he explained to them that this happened to him frequently. It was similar enough to some symptoms seen on the Helcaraxë that he was given some powders to help his sinuses drain. He was to take the chile powder and put it in a cup with honey and hot water before drinking it in one gulp. After thanking them for their services, he stepped outside to find a crowd had gathered, "do I even want to know?"

"Apparently word got out that you thought you were dying," Voronwë sighed, his dark eyes rolling with the statement. Afterwards though his sharp teeth flashed in a smile, "and people are taking bets as to when you perish."

"Not for a very long time hopefu-fu-" he sneezed again. "I should like to go lie down now."

The mariner nodded and returned his attention to the crowd, "that's enough everyone, the spectacle is over, he is perfectly fine, nothing to see here, move along now. That means you Halyahendu."

The herald frowned, "but I came to make an interview request of him!"

"Interview?" The human tilted his head.

"Yes, he's a herald, and a snoop," his friend replied.

Halyahendu frowned, accompanied by Yaulë rising from slumber in the hood of the crier's cloak. "The people have a right to know what happens in this city, not all of us remember the arrival of Húrin and Huor!"

"Never mind..."

Itaril tapped him on the shoulder, "you must be tired, Papa has assigned you some rooms, and we can try the remedy the healers gave you."

"Please." The human left the mariner to handle Halyahendu. He followed the princess down the hallways of the palace to a nice set of guest rooms, the windows open to the late afternoon sun. He found the kettle near the fireplace and set about concocting his remedy, all the while his eyes returned to Itaril.

She noticed this and settled on the couch, legs outstretched, "how much have you heard about the city?"

Tuor laughed, "I heard it was isolated and not quite what it seemed. I'm beginning to wonder if this isn't the place that created the phrase 'understatement'."

"You'll grow used to it." The reassurance comforted him, to his surprise, then again it probably came from the one person he would probably believe on the matter.

He paused in his puttering about, "would you like some tea?"

"Please. It's been a long few days."

The human resumed his task, preparing his remedy as well as a cup of chamomile tea for his host. He settled in onto the chair near her when all was ready and managed to swallow down his remedy, before the blistering pain in his nose became too much. Itaril smiled, "did it help?"

"I'll let you know," he choked, with the uneasy sensation that his new friend would spend a good deal of time laughing at him over this once she understood the concept of allergies.

_In the end listeners, I have come to learn a good many things, as the weather clears and we resume reality anew. The Secondborn are not so different, I am told, they laugh and love, hate and hearken, cry and console, just as we do. Their lives are briefer yes, but no briefer than any other being that walks in Eä. We are all as thin and forgotten as the pause between breaths, as the silence between a reciprocated feeling, as the duration of our lives. Do not look for comfort amongst the gaps between the words listeners, look for them among friends, new and old. Look for them in the all the dark places where you must walk. You stand now between candle and starlight, gazing into the Void, on the edge of some new ruin or triumph, and which it is we cannot say. We can never say. All I can say now listeners, is what I have always said to you, what I will always say to you._

_Good night, Ondolindë, good night._

 


	10. In Which Banns are Posted and Reconcile Begins

_I can see what happens, and no one has a clue. The only person who does, is the One Who Does Not Err, and even then there are moments of questioned authority._

_Welcome to Ondolindë._

_Oh listeners, I come to you this day with the gladdest of tidings, for it is not often that we are privy to a royal wedding, particularly here in our humble community. Many things have humbled us, and many things will, but for today we may be safe in knowing the reason for our awe and fear. Everyone in the city has of course watched this budding romance with the greatest of speculations. The Community Prospect Betting Club's odds have changed over the last few years and-_

"Halyo, my heart, do you really need to conduct a report for the wedding?" Tirohtar smoothed a crease in his husband's collar. "The entire city is here, and the entire city remembers."

"Do they?" the town crier mused, distant and amazed at this revelation.

The researcher smiled, "they do, I promise you that much. I doubt you would let them forget."

"That is good." Halyahendu leaned into the elf's side, before their cat crawled from the now ubiquitous hood, and settled across both laps. Yaulë yawned and settled once more into his nap but not before his ears had turned to another conversation not so far away.

At the dais, Turukáno hovered over the last minute details of his daughter's appearance, tucking in a braid here, smoothing a seam there. Maeglin hovered to one side awkwardly as his customary black had been broken by silvers and jewel-toned fabrics, while his horns had ornaments draped in them. For her part, Itaril waved her father off, "Papa, if you keep fussing then you'll miss the appointed hour for this." She smiled.

"I know, I know... I just wish your mother were here to see you. She would be so proud of you. And I want you to know, I am so proud of you." He cupped her cheeks and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I've two last things to go check, but I promise I will be back in time."

She waved him off, "go on."

Once Turukáno had begun to wend his way through the crowd, Maeglin coughed, a small polite noise, "Cousin, a word if I may?"

Itaril steeled herself, uncertain what he would wish to discuss with her now of all times. He had gotten help of late, or so she'd heard from Aegthelion, but it still unsettled her to talk with him outside court. "What is it?"

His head bowed, and he fiddled with one of the studded rings dangling from his horns. "I... I wish to offer my support for this union. I realize things have not always gone smoothly with us..." His eyes flicked about, he found Faroness with the musicians, awaiting their cue. She caught his eye and took a deep breath, and he mirrored the gesture. His eyes left her and chanced out across the crowd, Pityaruva had squared himself on Telerunkë's shoulders halfway back in the House of the Golden Flower's seating. He waved his encouragement at the Noldo, who returned his attention once more to Itaril. "My apologies, for both my hesitation just now and my treatment of you in the past. It was error on my part, you declined interest in me and I did not respect your wishes. For that I am truly sorry and I wish to make amends. Perhaps someday we may yet call one another friend and kin."

Itaril blinked, of all the things she expected to come out of Maeglin's mouth, that was the last. A full, sincere apology for his behavior. "Where did this come from?"

"I have been-" his words drowned under the massed musicians, now playing the opening melody of the royal wedding hymn. The original version had been played at Turukáno's own wedding many years before, and now opened his daughter's. Maeglin bowed his head and waved his cousin off, before finding his own spot near said High King of the Noldor. Itaril ascended the dais, her dress and train glittering with metal threads, the thin strands held jeweled beads, inlaid with more precious metals. Across from her, Tuor also ascended, his beard neatly trimmed, with a ruby set ring holding the strands under his lip in a braid. His cape, emblazoned with the insignia of the House of the White Wing fluttered as he moved. She giggled as he stepped on the hem and almost tripped up the stairs.

Turukáno prayed to any of the Valar that a. still cared, and b. still listened that his son by marriage tripping would be the worst of it today. Voronwë followed him up and winked at Itaril, she returned the gesture and stood, admiring them both. They had gotten Voronwë into not only a shirt, but a complete set of robes, even if they hung open, revealing a stripe of dark skin all the way to just below his navel. The music dragged on, and the three of them silently agreed that this was the last time they let Turukáno plan a wedding. It was just like Gondolin, opulent and grand, but a bit too grand.

At last Salgant lowered his arms and the King stepped forward, arms outstretched, the ornately embroidered sleeves of his robes just brushing the floor. "My dear friends, kinsmen, and citizens, marriage is what brings us together today. We are here to honor this blessed arrangement, this dream within a dream. But I am also well aware that you all came here for the party and food after so I shall keep this brief." Turukáno stepped back and took both of their hands between his own, "as many of you are aware, this sort of ceremony is usually conducted by a parent from each side, however... circumstances being what they are, I hope the Valar shall forgive me if I cut this a bit short."

Itaril smiled as her father faced her, lifting up her hands, "Itaril, light of my life, your mother would be so proud if she could see you now. She would also say that I picked out a terrible dress for you, but then fashion was one thing we never could see eye to eye on." His daughter laughed at that, "may Varda watch over you and your life, and may the stars be there to guide you if ever I am not."

The Noldo lifted Tuor's hands, "Tuor son of Huor, you've truly come into your own, and I hope that he would be as proud of the man you are as I am. You are a kind and true friend. May the wisdom of Manwë grace you and the wind shepherd you along the road of your lives." With that Maeglin stepped forward, producing a small pillow with two gold rings, carefully inscribed with prayers of good fortune for the couple. "Take now these rings, as a couple, and know that this oath binds you to one another, before the grace of the Valar and the people gathered today." He smiled. "And now, if you wish to kiss one another, you may do so."

Itaril surged forward, and dipped the human into a kiss. "Better?" She smiled.

"Yes," he blushed, "now shall we let these good people go back to their lives?"

"I think so."

_What a beautiful wedding, listeners, but what a shame that the ceremonies, like all things in life must end. And so listeners, we join in a parade, a veritable menagerie of the fine people that call our fair city home. Here I see people such as Lord Egalmoth, wearing bands of gems among his magnificent rack. Beside him I see Lady Tulindo, her scales shining in the sun, and Lord Lutumo, his feathers painted in saffron and lavender. Listeners, I look beside me and I see happiness incarnate, wearing his formal research robes. And I couldn't be-_

A kiss silenced him, Halyahendu pouted as Tirohtar withdrew. "Enough my love, everyone with eyes that still operate on visible light saw what happened, and passed along the information to those who can't." He chuckled.

"Then what is the point of being a herald if I do not report what happens as it happens?"

"Your job right now," Tirohtar prodded his nose gently, "is to enjoy yourself, to record this for posterity yet to come. Or have I misread what your job title entails?"

He pouted, only to find a cat licking at the back of his neck. "You're right Yaulë, this is the time of relaxation and rejoicing."

They passed Salgant, who had started to marshal the musicians into their set of rotations for performance. The conductor paused as he felt a tug on his sleeve, and he knelt to find the cat eyed child staring up at him. Halyahendu paused, frowning, for though his eyes had long been rendered useless, he could sense the presence beside the elf. It felt the way the storm had all those years ago, an ominous blackness, that pulled at the world around them. It spread deepest from where the child touched Salgant's hand, stretching and twisting up the musician's body. The herald shuddered, he had encountered a similar darkness once before, when the Darkness swallowed the Trees and the King. Tirohtar tugged on his elbow. "Halyo, are you there? I can see a candle in the window, but I'm not sure if you're home."

"Huh?" He startled out of it, "yes, I'm fine." He twisted his neck back, studying the spot, the darkness still lingered, "though this city may yet be in danger."

"What are you on about this time?"

"A darkness is coming, whether tomorrow or a century from now, it will come, not from the mountains as before, but from within." The herald guided Tirohtar away from the spot to an empty table in the plaza, where festivities had already begin, judging by the sounds of drinking and carousing.

Tirohtar sighed, it sounded paranoid, but Halyahendu's predictions had never before been wrong. "I'll see to it the King is warned, first thing tomorrow."

Halyahendu nodded, "thank you."

_Sometimes, it behooves us to consider the future midst our present triumphs. This day has seen glory for us but it will also, inevitably be swallowed by the Void. And in this present state of despair I do not know what I can say, listeners. Whatever consolation I could give, I am bereft of, for it is the future of us all that frightens me. As it should frighten you, and so listeners, before Lord Egalmoth throws yet another drinking horn at my head, I shall shelter you, comfort you with my greatest asset, the weather._

Across the hall Maeglin stood near one of the posts with lamp stones strung on it. It had taken him weeks to complete the project, even with all the skill of the three smith houses, he could sense they paled in comparison to the ones in Valinor. The idea of catching light in crystal was what had brought his mother and her kin here, and it was the reason he now stood here. A delighted, exhausted laugh beside him drew him from his thoughts as Tuor smiled up at him. "You're Lord Maeglin right, or I guess cousin now."

"I am, yes." He glanced down.

Tuor smiled and scratched his cheek, flushed with excitement, "it's nice to meet you, well nice to meet you outside of City Council meetings."

"I suppose," he had yet to discern the disposition of the Second-Born.

Undeterred the human continued, "you dance much?"

He shook his head, "not particularly."

"You should try it. Could be fun! I mean I've seen some strange dances here." He nodded over to one of the bonfires where Rog had wrapped his legs around Aegthelion's hips and bridged himself backwards into a half handstand. "Besides, it's my wedding and I say everyone should have fun." Maeglin frowned, clearly what he and the Second-Born considered fun were two vastly different concepts. However the human elbowed him in the hip, guessing the gesture was meant for his upper rib cage, "lookit, there's two comin' this way now, why not ask them?"

His dark eyes lifted from the far too jubilant man to find Pityaruva and Faroness with a keg and three drinking horns. "What did you two do?"

"I got some Balrog's Belch," Pityaruva grinned, mischief in his mismatched eyes.

Faroness smiled, her ears forward, tail wagging hopefully, "we were wondering if you wanted to join us at the stream by the north fields."

Tuor nodded his encouragement, "go on then, your friends want to go have a private party, and you have my blessing."

Maeglin's scowl grew bewildered as he pondered why he needed the human's blessing to go drink with his friends, but then he shoved it away. He could afford one night without a cutting remark, as Tuor had already disappeared in a different direction with Itaril and Voronwë, dragging them both by the elbows.

"You coming?"

The smith blinked, then nodded as they departed.

Back across the pavilion, Halyahendu was being ushered out by his husband, waving his cup of cool mint water, that he had, inexplicably become inebriated with. "G'night Ondolindë! Sleep tight! And remember sheep will eat your dreams if you let them!"

"Yes dear," Tirohtar gave a put-upon sigh, as he continued his shepherding, and Yaulë complained the whole way home, as only a mildly irritated cat can.

 


	11. Ashes of Eternity

_The starlight embraces, the moonlight watches, the sunlight provides. But into every light a little darkness must come._

_Welcome to Ondolindë_

_Listeners, my apologies about my most recent adventure the other day when I was offered mint tea at my interview with Moralqua, one of Tirohtar, darling, beautiful Tirohtar's research assistants. But putting that aside, as mentioned, today is Tarnin Austa, as it so often is. I suppose, that is the point of a sacred day, that it marks the point of the year when we put aside old qualms, old lies, old skins, old selves, and come into ourselves anew. I take you now listeners, to the official breaking of the silence to open the festivities._

Turukáno gestured out to the crowd, "and now friends, I bid you go, enjoy yourselves." A cheer rose from them as they started to disperse out into the festival tents. Casks of ale, mead, wine, and other stronger alcohols would soon bring the celebration to a fervor pitch. A short way off, he spotted Itaril, Tuor, and Voronwë with the young Eärendil leading the pack, flailing in excitement as only a child could at everything. Aegthelion had taken up his flute and led a merry pack of youngsters down towards one of the stations with games set for them.

The King sighed, scratching at his crown as he made his way quietly towards the palace. He retreated to his room, removing the crown and the ceremonial outer robes before settling in with a book and paperwork. It was supposed to be a full holiday, only vendors who wanted to hawk their wares and volunteers to run activities actually worked, or so it should have been. He sighed and nestled into his chair, dipped his glass pen and began to write. The minutes crawled by, the clamor outside growing as they did. The sunlight filtered through the window, as paperwork migrated from one end of the desk to the other.

A pause came as he finished the last of the annual House budget reviews, and finalized their allocations for the upcoming year. His nose twitched, he could smell a shift in the wind, and with it came the smell of fire and decay. At once he stood up, pen forgotten on the ground as he ran to the closest window. Nothing. A quick sprint to a northern window though, revealed a mass of dark clouds just above the mountains. Another followed as he reached the observatory, he seized one of the new spyglasses, and pointed it not at the sky, but at the mountain. Sure enough, the swarming masses of orcs trickled between the sheer outcroppings of rocks, ants with a carcass on a midsummer sidewalk was the only comparison he could make.

"No... not again... not again..." He shook his head, then snarled, his family was in this city. The darkness had robbed him of his wife, his father, his siblings, they would not take his daughter and grandchild too. Not if he had a say in it.

Without a moment to lose, he raced to the upper courtyard where Aegthelion and Rog had started story time with some of the children. "I need to speak to you both. Now."

"Your Majesty?" Aegthelion stood, "um, say children, why don't you go see if the apple bobbing has started yet?"

A cheer rose from the group as they took off. Both of them turned their attention back to the panting king. "What's going on?" Rog helped him out of his doublet to ease his breathing.

"Orcs, swarming, north, warn, city, hurry, evacuate."

Without needing further instruction the pair kissed and parted ways, Aegthelion already shouting orders at his people. Rog sprinted in the direction of the lower levels of the city, bellowing at the lords of Gondolin as he went. The sheep quarantine had been moved up to the north just last week. But even the apex predator of the valleys would barely dent a force as large as the ones swarming the valley. Turukáno turned back towards the palace, now intent on the armory.

It took longer without the three squires that normally hovered around, assisting him into his suit, but all Noldorin armor was designed to be wearable without assistance. He fastened on the last buckles of his pauldrons and knelt to strap on his sabatons. The fear in his heart set his hands shaking as he checked his gambeson again, ensuring it was on and fastened before he slid his breastplate on. Fingers fumbled with buckles, would the evacuation even make it? The seven gates would be more a hindrance now than a help. The riskiest option, Cirith Thorondor, was their only hope. They had to hold the city long enough to ensure that the civilians could be led to it and make their escape.

Glamdring rose to his hand, a pale white stripe in the relative gloom of the chamber. "Come my friend, let us bare our fangs at the world once more."

_Listeners, this is an evacuation order. Please proceed in an orderly manner to the gates of the city. The city guard will then guide you to the designated exit. Please do not return to your homes. Do not pack your belongings. The sooner you leave the safer you shall be. I repeat, this is an evacuation order. Please proceed in an orderly manner to the gates of the city._

Tirohtar tugged on his husband's hand. "That means us to, you know."

"We should be safe for a while yet, the orcs have been slowed by the sheep, leading a rebellion of all the fauna. Not to mention the rocks do not appreciate being rolled and have retaliated in kind." He replied. Yaulë yawned and pouted before readjusting and returning to sleep. The researcher rolled his eyes.

"You can report and run."

"But I will bite my tongue."

"At least it will still be attached to the rest of you." With that he picked up his husband, slung him over one shoulder and joined the evacuation.

Despite his continued protests, Halyahendu's warning had reached the citizens. The soldiers, some in armor, and some casting off their formal wear began to secure exit routs. Aegthelion made his way back to the palace, Angalen on his heels. He had found a moment to slip on his own armor. Orcrist hung from his shoulder while Olorarca already sat in his left hand. "Your Majesty, the evacuation is under way, Tulindo and Egalmoth's people are on the ramparts, while Rog's have become a physical wall in the north marketplace. Orders?"

"Send half your soldiers to assist the-"

A roar broke the chatter of orcs that loomed ever closer to the city. Both of them turned their attention back to the mountains. Balrogs, visible for the flames that ever leaked from their bodies led yet more foul creatures, one in particular large and brighter than the others. They reached the outer walls and began to break them, more orcs poured from the wounds. Down from the smoke cloaking the valley swooped a dragon. Fire gushed from its jaws, and Turukáno felt almost relieved, he would meet his end as honorably as the rest of his family. The dragon's tail slapped the tower before them, sending the stone crumpling.

"Orders, your Majesty?" Aegthelion's voice took a high, broken tone.

"Get as many as you can out." He paused, "Aegthelion, I know you and Laurëfindë only came because Findekáno was worried about me. I want you to know that I value you as a dear friend, and I thank you for your aid all these long years."

He smiled and bowed, "what're friends for?"

"Go on then."

"Yes sir!"

As they ran away, Angalen looked back, "he's not going to survive this is he?"

"Have faith," he smiled at them, "besides, we have our own job to focus on."

Back at the palace, Turukáno had ascended to the King's Tower glaring at the dragon coiled around it, his head shifted to the of a wolf. "Though I go to the death and ruin of all, I do not go in fear. My people are safe, and to them, I entrust my dream. The dawn will come." He howled and leaped from the balcony landing on the dragon's face. The beast's head thrashed and he flew through the air, the tiles of the tower roof cracked as he landed, winded. A head, green scaled and horned rose into view. Quick as a viper the dragon lunged for him, and the elf rolled out of the way.

The splintering roof collapsed under the attack and he fell once more through the air. A hand shot out, the leather and metal splintered as he tried to catch the scales, but his hand shifted, thick fur sprouting along his skin while dark claws hooked into the scales. He snarled, the king would not go down without a fight. Howling once more, his other hand reached out, both hands grown beyond the confines of the gauntlets. The slick soles of his boots failed to find purchase on the scales, unable to articulate words with a lupine form, Turukáno's swearing came out as guttural growling and barking. With three firm kicks, he dislodged both shoes, his feet undergoing the same transformation as his hands. At last able to climb, he paused, realizing that Glamdring had fallen to the ground below them. He would have to do this by hand, or hybrid hand and paw as the case may be.

As he clung on the dragon ascended, the wings above him made the climb that much more difficult. Below he could hear the sounds of fighting, buildings bursting into flames, and crumbling into ruin. He pressed on, before tearing leather and cloth caught his attention. As he glance down, the High King of the Noldor found that his armor had split open, the lining of his gambeson shredded. The reason seemed to be that his torso had joined in the transformation efforts, covered in fur, and thicker muscles. Another step, and he felt the seam of his pants tear, something pushing awkwardly against what remained of the back of his breastplate.

At last he reached the dragon's head. The beast snapped in frustration that it had not killed him, and rolled in midair, trying to dislodge him. Turukáno held firm, his claws hooked into the scales as he crawled towards one eye. The dragon's will met his, and the elf threw it off, no overgrown salamander would destroy the Noldor, much less the High King. And before the dragon could react, he lunged forward, biting into the tissue of the eye. Screaming in pain, the dragon crashed into the ground, sending the elf turned wolf through the air. As he skidded to a halt, the king found the rest of his armor in shambles on the ground. A thick taloned hand rose to paw at the injury, until the dragon's good eye spotted him. Jet after jet of fire scorched the air, but on four legs, Turukáno outpaced each blast.

With a mighty leap, he again reached the dragon's eye and tore at it with his fangs. Blinded, the dragon's head waved back and forth, spewing fire in every direction. The elf flew for a third time and landed on all fours. His eyes fell onto a bare patch of skin on the belly, glowing orange with each burst from the maw. It appeared vulnerable enough as he surged forward, his claws and fangs shredding into the beast once more. Two good bites opened a hole, which let out a horrific popping noise. Fire erupted inside, a hideous smelling fire, accompanied by bubbling liquid from the wound that was definitely not blood. Either way both began to expand the hole. Turukáno released his grip but the dragon keeled over atop him.

His mind felt fuzzy, body ached, but he crawled through the putrid darkness to the faint orange light of the fire in the city. Extracting himself at last, the High King wobbled to his feet, blood dripping from his chest and shoulder. He tried to take a deep breath, but pain rocketed through his body and he collapsed, the fuzziness around the edges of the world growing.

~~~~~~

Maeglin coughed as he ran through the city, Pityaruva behind and Faroness in front of him. She paused, sniffed the ground and took off again. The lord, though really former lord now, paused at another piece of armor. He knew his handiwork when he saw it, especially Turukáno's armor. At last they came across the dragon, or rather the corpse. One of the beams behind them collapsed, trapping them within what had once been the plaza before the Temple of the Valar. "Over here," the Sinda bounded over the dragon's body. Maeglin and Pityaruva rounded it to find the king lying face down on the ground, naked and in a pool of his own blood.

The smith knelt and pressed two fingers to his uncle's neck and then one under his nose. "He's still breathing. Be careful, he may have broken ribs or internal bleeding."

Pityaruva nodded, then hoisted the king onto his shoulders, snaking one arm around Turukáno's right, and the other between his legs to secure the left one. The trio set off again, only to find the way barred by a broken roof chunk. Undeterred, Maeglin lowered his head and ran for it full tilt. It splintered around his horns and he motioned his friends through, mindful of their patient's condition. They turned down a side street and found a path towards one of the city gates. "Y'know," Pityaruva grumbled, "when we tell the Princess we found her dad, I'm going to point out I'll have spent Mandos knows how long with his cock slapping me in the ear."

"You're the one who said let me carry him." Faroness reminded him. "Also this seems like the worst time to think about that."

He snorted, "Because of the three of us I'm the strongest and Maeglin knows his way around the upper circles better. And it's called compartmentalizing. I was working on it in my spirit healing session last week."

A band of orcs caught them then, Maeglin tried to take as many as he could, but with his combat partner engaged in rescue, he was having little luck. The Sinda set the king aside, freeing the smaller Noldo to join in. She tore off the hem of her dress and started to tend to his wounds. Turukáno let out a faint moan of pain as she bandaged him up, using her remaining sleeve as a sling for what she guessed was a broken arm or dislocated elbow. The Noldor came back, the beastmaster grumbling, "and now I have to get my professional markings redone, again!" He held up the stump of his left arm. The flesh already started to knit together, a sickening combination of squelching and cracking coming from it as it started the three hour process needed to regrow everything from his left elbow down.

Maeglin sheathed his sword assisting with the last of the bandages. "You were the one who decided to chop it off rather than let the orc keep chewing on it."

He pouted but silently agreed. The king was returned to his shoulders, and they used the last of the hem bandages to secure him to his bearer.

They passed into one of the shopping plazas near the music conservatory and froze. Salgant knelt in the middle of the chaos, staring up at the sky. Faroness darted forward, "Lord Salgant? Why haven't you evacuated?"

He glanced back at them, "I- you- why are you here?"

"We're trying to help evacuate," she frowned.

Maeglin turned his gaze past the musicians and frowned at the shadow standing behind the other lord. "Lord Salgant, step away."

"Mister," the shadow spoke, a distorted child's voice rippled the darkness which comprised its body. "Are they bad people too? Should I get rid of them?"

"No, Faroness, is my star student, and Lord Maeglin..." He shook his head. "I asked you to undo the storm."

"Lord Salgant, I insist you move." The smith stepped forward, sword drawn.

He shook his head, "I caused this... The child said, promised that everything would be as it had been..." The Lord of the Harp shuddered, "I never expected this... when asked if I could say where the city was... I thought it an innocent question... I-I-" before he could finish, Maeglin brought the pommel of his sword down on his neck.

"I'll carry him, he can stand trial before Uncle for this when this is over." The smith hefted Salgant over his shoulders.

"Right," she picked up the sword and they set out once more.

They passed the gate and joined the soldiers starting to make their own escape, uncertain who had survived and who among their friends and associates would not join them in safety.

~~~~~~

Laurëfindë tossed the balrog corpse over, and let out a sigh of relief while he shoved his loose hair out of the way. The rapidity of the attack had left little time to put in his war spikes or even a simple tie. He grinned as he found what he sought. "There you are, Rog," he hauled the other elf to his feet. "You know Sorno would never forgive me if I left you behind."

Rog chuckled, "that last blow threw me for a loop." He stooped, retrieving his maul. The haft had bent, and he sighed, "going to need a new one."

"Time for that later." The warrior chuckled, "can you walk?"

A quick check found that the Lindi could walk, though he winced with the motion. "I'll be fine, how is the evacuation?"

"All the civilian areas are clear, it's just the military positions. I left Aegthelion at the Fountain, he said he had unfinished business." He fretted, "ideas?"

Sighing, the smith picked up a structural support beam, "alright, everyone make your way out by the south gate. Find the evacuation parties, and stay with them. Don't let the yrk near them, understood?"

A cheer rose from his clan and they took off. Laurëfindë turned to his own party, "you heard Rog, get yourselves to safety, your lives are worth more than the city."

"Yes sir!" They took off after the clan.

The Noldo grinned up at his friend, "shall we go see if Sorno needs our help?"

Rog gave a brief, gruff nod before he charged up the causeway towards the palace, ignoring the pain in his right leg. His friend came up on his heels, sword drawn, watching their backs. A group of orcs held the narrow bridge up into the Fountain area, and with a swing of the beam, the smith sent them flying. Laurëfindë let out a low whistle, "ten points, oh, wait fifteen, that one went through a window."

The elf laughed and rammed the broken gate open. They found another balrog corpse, this one far larger than the rest, beneath it they found the glint of silvered armor. The elves hefted the limp arm off to find Aegthelion in the fountain, struggling to breath in short, ragged gasps. Careful as they could, they laid him out on the tiled ground. Laurëfindë cut away the broken scraps of armor, and ripped open the gambeson and cloth under it. He saw the crunched ribs beneath his friend's dark skin. "It looks like he punctured a lung..." He trailed off, delicate fingers prodding for injuries.

Aegthelion coughed again, "L-Lauro?"

"I'm here, Rog is too," he smiled, "Rog, do you have something small and sharp, like a needle? It feels like the air has seeped into his chest."

Rog growled, fearful and frustrated, but he found his first aid pack, still clipped onto his belt. Withdrawing a surgical needle he passed it over. The wail of orcs caught their attention, "Lauro... how long will it take?"

"Not long," he passed the needle over a fire, "but if those orcs get us then it won't matter."

"Focus on my husband, leave them to me." The Lindi rose to his feet, his grey eyes faded into a glowing white.

Laurëfindë swallowed, then as steady as he could, pierced his friend's side. He waited as the air slowly seeped out, Aegthelion shuddered and jerked coughing more violently now. "Come on, come on Sorno, don't let it end... You're not done yet." He coughed again and his chest rose and fell, air again in his lungs. "Good, now then..." He looked up to see Rog, the illusion of fire and shadows swirled about him. The Lindi reached forth and the illusion did the same, claws closed on the last of the orcs, tearing it with a flick of his wrist. "Rog, he's safe to move, now let's get out of here."

He glanced back, casting the beam behind him. Tender and gentle, he scooped the Lord of the Fountain to him, "come my love, it is time to go."

Sword again in hand, the Noldo followed after them. They passed back down the causeway and returned their attention to the gate. The wail of orcs filled the air behind them as they ran, finding the narrow, unmarked trail of Cirith Thorondor. They ascended up into the mountains, when a roar caught their attention, accompanied by a shout. "Move you shit!"

The warrior perked, they rounded the bend overlooking the first steep drop to find his sister, Telerunkë engaged with a balrog, her sword embedded in its shoulder. "Sister move!" He charged past her, her husband and her dogs to tackle it.

"Idiot!" She shouted as he drove his sword into its chest. The balrog stumbled, clawing at him. Laurëfindë dodged, rolling out of the way before rebounding off the cliff face. His body slammed into the creature and it staggered towards the drop. The claws tangled in Laurëfindë's hair, he held firm against the gesture. The balrog attempted to step back once more, only to find the breach behind, overbalanced by his grip. Tumbling off the cliff, Laurëfindë lunged forward, his fingers caught on the edge, unfortunately his enhanced strength also meant he could bear the weight of the balrog, who had taken the opportunity to get a second hand on him.

Telerunkë dropped to her knees by the cliff edge, "don't move," she raised her knife.

The color fled her brother's cheeks, "oh no, don't you dare! Ever since this mustard colored atrocity of moss started to mar my face it's my best feature!"

Ignoring his pleas, her knife sheared through the golden locks, sending the balrog into the abyss. He hauled himself up, whimpering slightly as his fingers ran through what had once been a glorious mane. "I hate you."

"Someone has to keep you safe little brother," she laughed. "Now move your ass. You too Rog."

The Lindi glanced up, startled out of his concern. "Right."

The dogs led the way around the corner and she waved up at the elves hidden further up above them, "close it off!"

A shout came from further up, and a series of boulders crashed down the side of the mountain behind them. The path fell away as they found the last group. "Is this everyone?" Laurëfindë's heart sank, how many had been ambushed on the path?

"The last few stragglers, everyone else has made it to a rendezvous point on the far side of the pass," Angalen saluted. "I see you brought his Lordship."

"I did, Angalen, how many do you have?" Rog stepped forward.

"Two dozen of ours, another dozen each of yours and Lord Laurëfindë's, everyone else went ahead, carrying the wounded and securing the route." They replied, "we got as many as we could out. Early estimates aren't good."

"Right..." Rog sighed, "we press on then." The pain in his leg returned and he stumbled. Telerunkë took Aegthelion while Laurëfindë, still mourning his hair but alive, supported the Lindi.

The rendezvous point buzzed with activity, wounds treated to the best of the healers abilities, supplies catalogued, soldiers running hither and thither. Egalmoth and Tulindo glanced up, both fretting over Lutumo, feathers stained with blood, red and black. They settled in at one of the clinic posts nearby. Rog removed his boots, the adrenaline faded into pain. He swallowed as Telerunkë set about splinting his leg, "I thought you were a beastmaster, not a healer."

She shrugged, "a leg is a leg is a leg, whether you've got hooves, paws, or toes."

"What about Thorno?" He glanced to where Varnasérë had begun to treat him.

The brewer shook her head, "punctured lung on an elf is outside my specialization."

"Right..."

"He'll pull through, he's been through worse." She reassured. "Besides, he's alright, for a complete loser." The fondness in her tone put him at ease, "and now you need to rest, if I find you overtaxing yourself, then it's lights out."

"I understand." He stripped his armor and leaned back onto the bed of smooth moss and rocks. Exhaustion replaced pain and rage, his neck craned to see Aegthelion, sleeping with a pained look while the healers moved about him. "All-Mother, please, hear me, may your light and warmth shelter my other half, I've lost much in my life to the dark. My mother, my father, my uncle. I do not know the fate of my aunt, my sister or my cousins, but I hold no hope of ever seeing them. Please, please keep him. I beg you." The fading sun filtered through the smoke and mountains, and he took it as a sign of hope, letting sleep find him at last.

~~~~~~

Halyahendu wandered through the encampment, leaning on Tirohtar for support, muttering to himself. Unable to muster the will to touch the minds of all the people around them, their emotions a wall in the dark. They settled on a rock outcrop where the last rays of the sun filtered through.

"Listeners, it has been a black day, as black as when the light of the world died. Black as when we crossed in the north. But listeners, I believe in you, I believe in the sun that peeks at us with hope. I believe in the promise of a dawn yet to come. Behold my friends, the night that comes, but do not fear it, for we have stood fast against the darkness. The buildings we left behind have fallen, as have our family and friends. There shall be time to mourn, but let us take this moment, my friends, to rejoice. Our city still stands. Ondolindë, our home, shall never fall. For we are Ondolindë. The ties that bind our city are not mortar and stone, but friendship, kinship, love.

"As my customary departure would be inappropriate at the current time, allow me then to say this.

"Be safe, Ondolindë, and look to the dawn."

 


	12. The Dawn Will Come

_...The fields are clear and the roads look as open as ever. And now a look at the community calendar._

Turukáno's eyes fluttered open, his whole body ached, stiff with exhaustion. Half of him wished nothing more than to go back to sleep, but his mind refused the impulse to return to the Gardens. His skin prickled, the feel of a foreign tunic and trousers. Fingers twitched, a thick cloak served as his bed. The smell of wildflowers and fields, the expanse of flatlands. More importantly, he smelled food. His stomach snarled, food. As he struggled to sit up, a hand found his back. "Thank you," he managed, turning to his assistant.

Pityaruva grinned, "happy to help. I just sent Maeglin to get some sleep, your daughter's organizing the camp, but I'll send someone to fetch her at once." With a weak nod, the elf found a bowl of thin soup lifted to his face, "Varnasérë said you need to start slow, but it should only be a couple of days before you're back on solid food."

He took a few sips of his breakfast, studying the activity in the camp around them. People scurried about in the predawn air, "how many?"

"Sir?"

"How many did we lose?" He finished the question, hands shaking.

"We're still tallying. Today's the first real rest we've had... Early estimates say some five thousand people."

A third of his people, at a minimum, gone. He scratched at his temple, the crown that had been lost in the fires still itched. "And the rest?"

"Injured or exhausted. We managed to get supplies, and recovered a lot of the animals. Anyone willing and able is out scouting or hunting."

"I see... where is my daughter leading us?" he took another few gulps of soup, his stomach protesting at how unsatisfying he found breakfast.

Pityaruva pointed south, "settlement there, Sirion or something, run by the Teleri."

The king nodded, "yes, the Lord Círdan from what I understand. She's done well then..." His eyes fell to the thin soup, and there found his reflection. Despite four days asleep, exhaustion still gnawed at him. The wolf part of his brain said he should run, hunt, regain his strength, while the elf wished to find a bed to curl in and never leave. His city was gone, his people broken, there was no hope left.

Morgoth had won.

Though maybe the fallen one had outplayed them long before. Was it when Findekáno died and all hope of their people united failed? Or when his father had fallen? No... it had happened long before, when Finwë died and they had all been blinded to the reality of a hopeless battle. He had known it for what it was, even then, but had gone along with everyone anyway. And what had it earned him?

An argument broke out nearby, several soldiers rushed in, stopping it before it escalated. Another few bites of the warm soup passed his lips before he paused. Why bother regaining his strength when there was no hope, no chance of victory? He put the bowl aside and fell back onto his makeshift bed.

_Our community calendar outlook is much the same as it has been the last four days, walking, resting, with snack breaks for the children. Early estimates put us in Sirion by the end of the month, at which point there will be a mandatory mourning and construction period. Acting Queen Itaril has announced that a memorial service will be held at that time that we may ensure our people get to the Halls of Mandos with the requisite amount of prayers to earn access. On the schedule for today also is a City Council meeting for this afternoon, where our beloved Acting Queen shall give a speech detailing her plans for the recovery of our people and the continued migration south. In other community news, sign up sheets are going around for volunteers for scouting parties and hunting parties. Anyone interested should place one teaspoon of blood, horse venom, and sheep wool on the top of a pine tree and shriek like a goose at the full moon. And now, financial news._

Acting Queen Itaril? Turukáno sighed, he had tried to keep his daughter out of the political spotlight, to be at peace, but she still had the blood of Finwë in her. Born to lead, and born to lead well. Abdication had crossed his mind before, but he hated the idea of abandoning his post only to put it on his daughter. A hand pressed to his forehead, breaking his train of thought, "you're not feverish again... do you feel sick your Majesty?"

"No..." He sighed. "You were on the Helcaraxë with us. After when Itaril and Elenwë fell in... you could have gone anywhere. Why stay with me?"

"With respect sir," Pityaruva prefaced, knowing full well it would not soften this next blow, "I stuck around because you're someone worth following. I know I could have gone anywhere, but I want to be here." He smiled, "you care about people, not just your own but everyone. You don't pretend you have all the answers, and you ask for help when you need it. I know I'm not the only one that feels that way. All of us could have gone anywhere, still could, but we want to be here, because we believe in you."

Turukáno's eyes opened, and he sat up, still sore. The elf beside him held out the soup once more, "I think I understand..." He took the offered dish and finished it.

"Your Majesty?" He motioned for the younger elf to help him up, but he swayed as he stood. "Um, are you sure this is a good idea?"

The king nodded, "I understand at last, this is no time for me to be lying abed. Take me into the camp, I wish to see for myself how my people fair."

"Yes sir."

With hair mussed, clothes plain, and crown lost, few paid Turukáno any mind. They made their way through the sprawl of people, some readying themselves for travel, others still tending to the injured and dying. And as with any people gathered in one place, gossip and tension flowed freely.

"Did you hear? The King fought off a dragon by himself! They say he died in the fire."

"That's a load of shit, no one, not even the King could fight off a dragon. Probably got himself eaten."

"My condolences on the loss of your brother. May his spirit find comfort within the Halls."

"That's my water flask!"

"It was just sitting there!"

This last round of conversation brought them both to pause as Egalmoth stepped between them, "That's enough out of both of you!" He stooped, and retrieved another water flask from the tall grass. "Two water flasks, two mouths, now stop squawking like a pair of eaglets!"

"Y-Yes your lordship," both bowed before they ran away.

Turukáno's chuckle fell to a fit of coughing, his caregiver fretted and settled him on a boulder. Egalmoth glanced over, his eye fell onto the king and he knelt before him, hand on his chest. "You should go rest, boss."

"I'm fine, Egalmoth," he protested.

"You don't sound fine," the Sinda scowled, "kid, go run and get some water. Double time!" Startled, Pityaruva ran off to do just that, leaving the two nobles alone.

_I would like to take a moment to talk to you about the sacred humors, the profane humors, and the benefits of laughter. The sacred humors, as delivered in the Edicts of Ingwë are: terrible puns, contests of poetry delivered with a beat, a company of good friends and better alcohol, a shared secret, and the beauty of life. The profane humors, as delivered in the Abridged and Amended Edicts of Ingwë, Most Holy Among the Firstborn, Third Revised Edition are: reproductive based jokes, the playing of pranks, the seven words outlawed in Valmar, falling into a sinkhole, and reversing one's undergarments. All of these though contribute to the benefits of laughter, regardless of the views of the Vanyar. Laughter is a gift, a gift that keeps on giving, for to laugh at one's own faults is to take the first steps to self improvement. For by staring into the Void, whether the vast Nothingness or the inner void within your heart, listeners, you take the first steps into the light. To laugh even in the blackness of despair, there is no greater source of strength. So listeners, find the light in the blackness, no, be the light in the blackness. Bring joy to your friends, bring joy to your family, bring joy even to random strangers. I shall do as I have always done, bringing you joy yet untold, as I bring you again, to the weather._

"Egalmoth," Turukáno turned to the Sinda lord. "Tell me my friend, what do you make of our situation?"

He laughed, "My view, boss? That's a first."

The king fixed him with a disapproving frown. "You know I value your input. I made you a member of my council because you and Rog are the only ones willing to say what no one else will."

"I know, I know, sorry. Just never thought I'd hear you say those words again." He fiddled with a loose scrap of velvet on his antlers. "Well, Salgant's raving about how the city's downfall is his fault. Galdor's keeping an eye on him. Princess is doing a fine job running the show, even if Eärendil's complaining, wants to know when he'll get to go home and get his toys. Kid's certain he's insulted them by leaving them behind." He paused, "this wasn't want you wanted."

"I know what the lords are doing, I am asking you for what your thoughts are." Turukáno shook his head, "if I wanted a status report on the camp that's what I would have asked for."

"You want to know what I think?"

"Yes."

The Sinda stood up and waved what remained of his right arm at the distant mountains they had come from. "We fucked up, you fucked up. And you need to recognize that. Once we got beat at Unnumbered Tears, you should have ditched the city or had us change the defenses. Next time the darkness comes, we will fall. This was a preview. If it hadn't been for the evacuation order passed on by Halyo we would have lost a lot more. We won't be that lucky again. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Turukáno carefully filtered through the words and clenched his fists. The statement was completely true, that he had failed as a leader and protector. It was also true that next time would be even worse. The enemy had exploited their weaknesses, though he had yet to determine how. There was the rumor that Egalmoth had repeated earlier, that it had something to do with Salgant, but he wanted hard facts before he accused anyone of anything, especially treason.

The Noldo's eyes met that of his friend, "I recognize this. It was my error that led to this, I should have focused on the clear and present danger rather than the hope the Valar would aid us again. Morgoth will pay for what he did to us, I shall make him regret stealing all the lives he has."

"Good, you're angry," Egalmoth clapped him on the shoulder, "anger can carry you when you're out of options. Just don't use it stupidly."

Pityaruva jogged back up, sporting a fading black eye, "got the water, milord."

"Good kid." The Sinda grinned, receiving a glare and mutter of 'being the same age as Rog'.

Taking the water flask, Turukáno drained it before he stood once more, straight-backed, with his eyes on the dawn lit sky. "Send my squire to me," his attention returned once more to the beastmaster.

"I'd love to, your Majesty, but I'm afraid he's dead... your nephew found what was left of him in the armory when we were looking for you."

"Mmm," he sighed, "I suppose it doesn't matter. Egalmoth, gather the city council," he nodded to the now former Lord of the House of the Heavenly Arch.

"Yes sir," he bowed and trotted off.

"It's Pityaruva, head of the Animal Care Guild, yes?"

"Much as I can be, your Majesty," he sprang to attention.

"Send word to Halyahendu, we ride in two hours. The Isle of Balar is two weeks away, I would rather make it before the wolves of Morgoth catch us." A determined glint caught in the king's eye, and for the first time since he had worn the crown, the spot where it lay didn't itch. Turukáno strode forward, "we will make them pay."

The elf grinned, "yes, your Majesty."

_Listeners, I've just received instructions from the High King of the Noldor, how exciting! We will be resuming our great march to the sea in two hours time, please strap down your belongings, small pets, and children before then. Also there is a rumor that the City High Council is in session to determine the best course of action for the future. The future is a frightening thing, listeners, but I have found a stable way to face it. Do not believe in yourselves, for do any of us truly know ourselves? Instead, believe in me. Believe in the me that believes, ardently, feverishly, as if possessed of an unattainable dream, in you. Believe in one another._

_Good day, Ondolindë, good day._

 


	13. An Unexpected Party

_A new beginning. An old end. A slightly used middle. An as-yet unfinished cover. All of these things and more available at your local bookstore._

_Welcome to Sirion._

_Welcome back, listeners, and welcome to all of our new listeners. Some faces I remember. Some are new. And all are unseen. But that is unimportant, for listeners this is a new beginning for us all. It's been two weeks since our great caravan arrived in this beautiful seaside home, and I must say it is everything the guide made it out to be. For those curious, Yaulë has settled into his new home nicely and he is expecting a litter! I know! It's the most joyous news! New kittens to join our new friends! You know the drill by now, but for those who are just joining us, it goes as this. If you wish for one of Yaulë's kittens, first scream at the sun. Do this until your lungs burst. If the sun screams back, you will find a building to your left with a sign up sheet. Use the blood from your lungs to write your name and the phrase the sun has screamed at you on it. If Lady Varda, She Who Kindled the Stars permits it, then we will give you a bouncing pouncing bundle of joy! So get to it listeners!_

Rog smiled at Aegthelion, the warrior's hand tucked into the crook of his tattooed elbow, the other on his cane. If his treatment progressed well, then he would be off of it and able to move under his own power by the end of the month. The smith kissed his husband's cheek, "what would you like for dinner?"

Bewildered by the myriad of stalls in the square, the Lord of the Fountain hardly had time to ponder food for later. Between the bright beads and bobs, the books and bottles of alcohol, and the cheery, welcoming atmosphere, he'd been so reminded of Alqualondë that he had become lost in thought. "Oh! I hadn't given it much thought, shall we see what the market has? I haven't had fresh seafood since I became Lord of the Fountain..." He gave a wistful sigh, "though I can't say I miss the buried, fermented shark, my brother was inordinately fond of of it, then again I think he ate it just to spite me."

Laughing the smith pointed to a stand with fish fresh from the docks, "pick out something you like then, I'll go see what the farmers have brought in."

"Right," he kissed the smith on the nose before he hobbled off.

"Wow..." A small, awestruck voice reached his ears.

Rog glanced down at the elfling near his leg, the poor thing had fallen over trying to look at him. He knelt down, helping the poor child to his feet. "Careful there, little one." He frowned, eyes fishing the market place, "where are your parents? How old are you?" He studied the youngster, head covered in a fluff of copper hair, a russet dandelion, the smith thought, with wide, bright grey eyes matched with a mess of freckles.

"Um, I'm um- Big brother!" The smith's eyes widened, the youngster had spoken Lindai, rather than any form of Sindarin or the dialect the Noldor insisted on calling Quenya.

An older child padded over, towing a toddler, whose teeth firmly latched onto the elder's arm. "What's this all about, Ealk?"

"I can't remember how old I am." The elfling sounded on the verge of tears.

Rog smiled, "it's alright, little one." He reassured, before his frown returned, eyes now on the eldest of the siblings. Two thin scars ran along his right cheek, recent from the look of them. All three had red hair, the boys with grey eyes and the toddler with brown. "Let go of your brother," he instructed gently, but the toddler hissed.

"Don't like bears. 'Specially not dummy bears." She growled, before latching on once more.

_"I don't like bears. Especially not bear brained dolts."_

His sister's words echoed in his ears. She was fixed in his mind on the verge of her majority, but by now it was entirely possible for her to have met her other half and started a family. He lifted his head, scanning the crowd again. "Where is your mother?" He asked, eyes on the clusters of elves in the market.

"She..." the eldest mumbled, "she rode to meet the black. I'm sorry, mister." Tears welled up in his eyes.

"It's alright lad. What was her name?"

"Mizdê."

The bottom dropped out of Rog's stomach, even as he nodded, "thank you, lad."

_And now, traffic. Well, listeners, I would give a traffic report except I am unable to discern where exactly the streets are. I've found my way from the encampment to the nearest market square, though beyond the four sides of this square and the straight road out of town, this city is a mystery to me. A mystery unto itself. A mystery as we are to ourselves. A mystery as we are to each other. So try not to cause any accidents listeners, as that will inevitably cause delays. In other news, meetings have begun at the city hall between our beloved High King and the Lords Círdan, Turwë, and Sendawë of the Teleri, who up until this point have ruled uncontested. Also with them is an elf some call Artanáro, others Ereinion, though he prefers Gil-Galad and claims the king as kin. Who he is, where he comes from, I have yet to figure out. If you have any information on this handsome, daring stranger, please whisper it into the nearest flowerpot, the secret spiders are listening._

At that moment another elf ran over, her silver hair pulled from her face in a long braid, dark eyes full of worry. "Mírdan, did you find Faelala?" Quenya, the smith noted with a dull thought. It wasn't out of the realm of thought that she had come this far south in their flight, married one of the Teleri and had children by them.

"Yup," he nodded.

"I'm not Faelala, my name is Ealk!" The youngster pouted.

The newly arrived elf bowed briefly, "I'm sorry if my cousins caused you any trouble." She tilted her head, mouth creased in a faint, confused frown. "Are you their blood father?"

Rog raised an eyebrow. "Blood father?"

"Yes, because abandoning your kids to orcs is highly irresponsible I'll have you know!" The newcomer snapped. "Honestly, you're lucky Uncle found them and took them in! Really, the nerve of it! You should be ashamed-"

"Lómiel!" The elfling, so named Ealk, tugged at her dress. "He's not Pa, but he knows Mama! He's clan, he's clan I know it!"

The smith swallowed, his head swimming with a thousand conflicting emotions. "I think, I think maybe we should talk."

The group adjourned to one of the cafes near the docks, the toddler, Niphredil as Rog learned, was quietly asleep in Lómiel's arms, while Ealk had started to build towers with the utensils, occasionally interrupting the conversation with a comment relevant only to a child. Mírdan sat silent, grim faced, only breaking posture to retrieve a fallen part of his brother's towers. The only sound that toppled the walla of afternoon shoppers and cutlery was Halyahendu, gleeful to be back to reporting the news and to have an expanded audience.

The Teleri raised an eyebrow at the herald nearby, shook her head, and began. "I only met them a couple of years ago, Uncle Círdan had found his other half, a Sinda rancher by the name of Gaurandir, and they wed. I've been living with my uncle to escape my parents' house, I love them, I do, but they kept wondering when I was going to get married and give them grandchildren." She shook her head again, "according to Uncle Gaurandir, he adopted them when they came riding in, Mírdan half-dead from his injuries. Faelala had asked Uncle to buy their horse so he could get medicine. Uncle got them to the healers, and took them in."

Rog gave a brief nod, "I see. Did they ever tell you what happened?"

"All Mírdan would say was orc attack." The writer paused in her tale, her gaze turned steely, "what about you then? You're their uncle, where have you been?"

Heaving a sigh, the smith gave the account of his life, Mírdan tuning in at that, and even Ealk paused when the time came to discuss Gondolin.

_I realize now that it has been a while, faithful listeners, since I had to do a true initiation. For what comes next, what inevitably lurks next, cannot be described. It can only be experienced. Which brings us to an interesting question, can one ever truly gain a full appreciation for an event as it is described, rather than experienced firsthand? I strive for integrity, listeners, to give you the news, wherever, and however it happens, but I am one person. I suffer from crippling bias and delusions known only to you but not me. You also suffer these same ailments, as they are the affliction known as 'living'. Thus when stories are told, some turn to dust, or to gold. Those that will be remembered for centuries, those have twisted, deformed until they barely resemble what they were birthed from. And so, I ask each of you, all of you, to keep this moment, every moment, accurately. I ask you to start this now, as I take you, to the weather._

The younger of the brothers clambered over into his lap and wrapped one of the Rog's strong arms in a hug. He smiled, fighting back tears he didn't know he still had. "So that's where I've been."

When he finished, Lómiel closed her eyes, "I can't imagine what that must have been like." She shook her head, trying to clear it, "while I doubt my uncles will give up full custody, I doubt they would mind if you wished to visit. Faelala already seems taken with you."

"We got an uncle! Best shopping trip ever!" Ealk chirped. "I can't wait to show you to everyone!"

"I can't wait either," he smiled, ruffling the copper fluff atop his nephew's head. "But you're not just getting me, you're also getting your Uncle Thorno too." He gestured to the bewildered warrior in the market, wandering in circles. "Shall we go fetch him?"

He clambered onto Rog's shoulder. "Yeah! Yeah! Can I Lo? Can I please?" He jabbered, a hopeful smile on his face.

She smiled, "go on then."

Wading through the crowd with his nephew on his shoulders, the smith found Aegthelion still pondering the fishmonger's wares. "Thorno, would you join me? I found a lovely cafe."

"But I was just narrowing it down between the salmon and the haddock." The warrior pouted.

With a grin, Rog took his hand. "There's a surprise there, and I think you will enjoy it."

"If you say so, I'll take the salmon then, please." The warrior took the wrapped fish, passed them to his husband, then let himself be guided to the table in front of the cafe. Bewildered the Lord of the Fountain let himself be seated while his husband dragged over another chair. Once both were seated, Aegthelion found Ealk toppling into his lap.

"Hi! We got two uncles! Even bester shopping trip ever!" The child cheered and smiled up at him, "wow you got pretty hair! It's so long and dark like the night got stuck in it! And your eyes! They're like green but also on fire! You got green fire eyes! So cool!"

Mírdan shrank down in his chair, while his sister awoke long enough to stick out her tongue at Aegthelion. "Two bird brains. Ealk bird brain and Uncle bird brain." With that declaration she returned to sleep.

The warrior raised an eyebrow at his husband, fishing for words before he gave a bemused smile. "You've encountered a troupe of tiny versions of you."

"Niblings," he corrected, " _our_ niblings."

His eyes lit up and he kissed the smith full on the mouth, before wincing and rubbing at his injured side. "I'm so glad for you! Even if I am now apparently a bird brain."

"Just like her mother," Rog gave the sleeping toddler a fond smile. A sharp kick of fresh grief hit his chest, he would never see his sister again. A tug on the hem of his shirt snapped him from his sorrow, Mírdan, staring at the floor, had approached, "yes, lad?"

"Stay, please... Ealk 'n Spenna got no clan left..." He mumbled. "If you want to, know I'm a fool... but they deserve better."

Wiping away his tears he put a hand on the elfling's narrow shoulder, "I'll stay. For all three of you, you're as much my nephew as they are. You're no fool, Mírdan."

"Mum thought I was..."

"What did my sister do?" He gave a put upon sigh.

He bowed his head, "named me Berô."

A bewildered look crossed Aegthelion's face at that. "But doesn't that mean valiant?"

The boy's head snapped around, "no! Means fool! Someone runnin' into trouble all the time and doing things by themselves!" He blinked and cowered behind Rog, "sorry... Really sorry..."

Aegthelion leaned over, "apology accepted, now, shall we get back to tea, Tano?"

"T-Tano?" He stared up at the Noldo.

"Yes, from your other name, it means smith, a maker, a fixer, like your uncle Rog here." He patted his husband on the shoulder. "These are the professional markings of one."

Rog smiled as he settled his oldest nephew onto his lap while the warrior explained about smith work. He would still ache for the loss of his family, but this particular wound may yet find a salve in his new family. His attention turned to Lómiel, who gave a smile of approval before she ordered another round of tea. Clearly they would be here a while, which for the Lindi, suited him just fine.

_The weather has passed, and with it the tidings of all the listeners who have brought us information regarding the identity of our enigmatic heartthrob Gil-Galad. ...Tirohtar has informed me that I should never use the phrase 'enigmatic heartthrob' again. But he is apparently the son of Orodreth, or Artaresto, though I am being quickly told that there is, or was, a nominal ban on Quenya. More on that after I apply my own brand of investigation later. For right now, our charming new friend has apparently been in the care of the Lord Círdan and his family, and has even agreed to be interviewed in the future so that we may get to know him and he gets to know us. So with that teaser for the future, I leave you in the ever capable hands of the present. A bittersweet taste, but one well worth repeating._

_Good night, Sirion, good night._

 


	14. Some Things Should Not Be Forgotten

_A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. A bush in the hand is worth three in the forest. A forest in the hand is death._

_Welcome to Sirion._

_The night is young listeners, well as young as a thing that has always been can be. I once asked about the youth of the night to an elf, with blond hair like a dandelion puff and resplendent robes. Ah I remember it well, I had just taken my post as apprentice town crier of Tirion, a dangerous and terrifying job, but he approached me. And I thought him to be a Maia come before me listeners, though as everyone knows, the Maiar do not leave Taniquetil. I asked this definitely-not-a-Maia-in-disguise if the night was actually young. For those unaware, the light of the trees did not consume the light of the stars, so one could consider it always night. I cannot in good conscience repeat what he said verbatim, as there are children about in the plaza this evening, but he said that the youth of the night is one of his favorite things. For the night was the first thing, predating even him, and the night has always watched over us all, and it will always watch over us all._

Tulindo stared across the desk at Salgant, frowning at him. "Let me see if I've heard you correctly, Lord Salgant. You said twenty years after the blood rain of Ondolindë, you began seeing a small child of indeterminate origin and gender."

"Yes," he nodded, shoulders slumped. "They had cat-slit eyes, gold mixed with orange, as though on fire. I thought nothing of it... That damned blood rain changed all of us. I thought the child had been cast from their home. Blessed Manwë knows we became a haven for people like that... But I never questioned, I never thought to..." Voice cracking he shook his head.

She rubbed her temple, "yes, we've established that. Tell me more about your interactions with this child."

"They only appeared to me briefly at first, after I'd had a particularly stressful day at work. But then their appearances grew more frequent." Salgant swallowed, "until one day they asked if I would sing for them. I had told them of my life's work, crafting music, training others to do the same, to enrich the world that we live in through it. Then they asked me to sing for them." His eyes grew hollow.

The former Lord of the House of the Swallow nodded, not everyone's changes had been so benign. It had taken her weeks to learn not to lisp, lest she speak with that damned shibboleth. It had come as a shock when Salgant had come to the emergency session with his voice in it's current state, she had attended several of his operas and come to respect his work greatly. Her eyes turned to Galdor, stock still and stone faced in the corner. The leaves in his hair rustled with a sea breeze through the window. He and the musician had been close in friendship, and this revelation had hit him hardest of all.

Salgant glanced back, the hollow look replaced again by regret, "I said I couldn't. I said that the blood rain had taken the song from my heart." His gaze fell to his lap, "the child smiled, and said that they had a friend who lived far away who could help. They said their friend could make everything the way it was. But I had to tell them where the city was... I was desperate, and afraid... What happened on Tarnin Austa... that was me. I told that child where to bring their friend." He lifted his eyes, tears staining his cheeks. "I caused the end of the city."

Tulindo frowned, folding her fingers before her face, "I don't follow you, Salgant, you say you caused the fall of the city by telling this child the location of it."

"Yes!" He shouted, half out of the seat. "Don't you understand?! The child was a servant of Morgoth! He found the location of the city from me! I told the child where to bring their friend, and they said they would be back in two weeks! Two weeks later is when they attacked."

"Correlation does not imply causation." Galdor broke his silence at last.

Salgant's gaze returned to him, "yes it does! You can ask Maeglin and his associates!"

Tulindo nodded to Galdor, and the Sinda left without another word.

_Today on food news, I have been sampling the local cuisine with noted expert Telerunkë, brewmaster of Ondolindë fame. We've discovered a tradition in the area of small restaurants that serve alcohol in small quantities along with small amounts of food. It is apparently customary to visit several of these over the course of the evening to visit with friends and family, or to visit one for a snack and company before heading home. I have to say listeners, I may make this a regular fixture of my routine. These tiny squid, fresh off the boat and cooked in oil and herbs, as well as their own ink are delicious. They also brew something called "cider" here and it is apparently quite the tradition, including buildings dedicated to the crafting and drinking of it. It's a delightful adventure and a great way to start learning about our new friends and family here._

Maeglin bowed his head as he finished the story, "and that was how we found him, the child, whatever it was may yet return."

Salgant smiled, a brittle hope in his eyes, "there, you see! It was me..."

Tulindo, now with another set of testimony to sift through stood. "We'll take this matter to the king." She rounded the desk, dress flittering behind her smoothly. "Lord Maeglin would you join me?"

"Yes," he spun and followed her from the office, along side Galdor, the door locked behind them. Halfway down the city hall offices to where the king had temporarily set up shop, they halted.

The former Lord of the House of the Swallow motioned to both of them. "Opinions?"

"On what?" Galdor scowled, "he said he did it, the lad's story just confirmed it." His fingers fell to the axe at his hip, "I trusted the bastard, I knew he was having trouble... I should have said something ta him!"

Maeglin lifted his hands, "calm yourself, Lord Galdor. Anger now will only lead to poor judgment. This incident may indeed be the cause of the city's demise, but there is some fouler force at work... If only we had the means to discern what."

"Speak plainly then," the Sinda snapped.

The young Noldo rubbed his chin, "why did it target Lord Salgant? Why not his Majesty? Why not any one of us?"

"Why indeed..." Tulindo frowned, her tongue running over her fangs when something Salgant and Galdor mentioned leaped out at her. Salgant had been one of the people who had difficulty coping with the changes brought on by the blood rain. He resented it, wished to return to his old life, rather than coming to the reality that there was no discernible cure. Tirohtar and his researchers had combined forces with the healers for years to come up with a treatment to reverse the changes with no luck. To some, it was too much to bear.

_To all of our new listeners, I realize that change has come to you as much as it has to us. New faces, old acquaintances, people coming, lives going. Some have adapted quickly, and to you I say, you will find a sign of good fortune if you look to the birds and ask them. Others adapt slower, and to you I say, no matter how many lizards you carry, you are still wearing a mask. And to those who resist change, I say, change will devour you swiftest of all. You will know it when it comes, for it will wear a red dress, close cut and high slit, and it will cast you into the Void with a single glance. It is also to you who resist change that I offer my condolences, for the time of change is now. For it is always changing, and always will. For you, I offer the only hope I can, as I take us all, to the weather._

Salgant's eyes closed as he sat before his king, repeating his story a second time that day. "Your Majesty, I know what happens to those who harm you and your kin, and I willingly accept my fate. You need not say anything."

Turukáno's eyes flashed to yellow, "do not speak for me, Salgant. I cannot let this matter go, as your actions have cost us the lives of five thousand at least. To you Salgant I offer two choices, exile, with as much food and water as you can carry, or penance. For this you shall go to all of the survivors of the city, and you shall speak to them, to apologize to them with all your heart. Some will forgive you, others will not. You have wounded us all, and you will answer to all for it."

The musician shook, either leave to the certain death of the wilds, ripped apart by orcs or other foul beasts. Or stay and face the certain spite of ten thousand people. The second optioned seemed too kind to him, to let him continue to live for what he had done. In the High King's place he would not have been so lenient. "Your Majesty, after consideration, I... I shall choose the path of penance."

"I shall assign you an aide, and they shall report to me your progress. You are only allowed one month maximum between visits. Any longer than that and I shall rescind this offer and you shall suffer exile. Is this understood?" He bowed his head and motioned to the former lord. "All title and holdings shall be stripped. If at a later time there is a consensus, you may have your position restored."

"Yes, your Majesty." He sighed and waited for the king to dismiss him. The former Lord of the Harp paused halfway out of the office and turned to him. "Your Majesty?"

"Yes, Salgant?"

"I-I do not wish to ask this out of a desire to have my sentence altered. I accept your judgement," he hesitated.

Turukáno raised an eyebrow and leaned forward in his seat, "go on."

"Do you ever wish you could go back to the way you were before?"

Eyes closed, the elf scratched at his new crown, "there are many things I wish I could undo or improve. However to dwell in the past and forget to live helps no one. In answer to the question you wish truly answered, no, because I am who I am today because of what happened in my past." He waved the other off. Once the door had closed, he turned to Maeglin, standing still in the corner. "My father said something to me once, that my grandfather told him. 'A king must be the will of his people as well as an example to them.' I believe I understand what he meant, at least a little."

"Uncle?" The smith tilted his head.

Turukáno shook his head, "don't mind me, just the ramblings of an old elf."

"If you're old, then what does that make the Lord Círdan?"

He laughed, "that I couldn't tell you. But he's invited the family over for salmon chowder next week. Would you like to come?"

"I would."

_The weather passes, the weather, listeners. The weather is the physical embodiment of time. Through it we count the days and observe the world. For the weather is a work of art, a work that exists only in time and only once. We may attempt to recreate it, whether in memory or in another performance, but the specific contexts of it will always be beyond our reach. As a bird, longing for the sky, we stretch our wings only to fumble. For that is the nature of time, and we will never truly grasp it. All of us are weather in our own way. The passing of a cool summer breeze in one moment, and the fury of a blizzard the next. Before I go listeners, a reminder that we still have three kittens available out of the litter of six, as several candidates dropped out. They said something about being astonished, or was it shocked, that a tomcat was a. pregnant and b. giving birth. So if you wish a kitten please do let us know._

_Good night, Sirion, good night._

 


	15. The Promise of Bliss

_A name breaks. A heart drops. A boy falls out of a tree. But we are the things that love destroys._

_Welcome to Sirion._

_ A curious day to you all listeners, as it would seem we are invited to a party. Well his Majesty graciously invited me along, and so has invited you along as well. For in the end we are not so different. Today's report will not come from the comfort of the plaza near the encampment, but rather from the salted shores of sea. And so if I seem distracted listeners, it is because I am presently fighting through a crowd of people to get another bowl of this amazing salmon chowder. I have never had something to flavorful in my life, listeners. Combined with a pint of Telerunk _ _ ë _ _ 's mead I believe I have discovered a whole new realm of existence beyond comprehension. However, I will not let this newfound awe distract me also from my duties to you, and so I shall begin with the traffic. _

The party in question was more to be an informal gathering. Círdan had suggested it, offering up his treehouse slash ranch slash shipyard as host to it. His family and friends would gather, as would Turukáno's and they would get to know one another, to foster better understanding between them. In reality it was rapidly turning into an excuse to drink, at least for the locals. The former residents of Gondolin had become paranoid about celebration. However the city guard had doubled up for the day, at a request, as well as sending out scouts. Thus at ease, Turukáno had asked the former lords of Gondolin not in disgrace, Itaril and her family, as well as a few others he knew well to attend on his behalf.

Which in turn was how Pityaruva found himself in attendance, having been asked along by both Maeglin and Telerunkë. The latter refilled his drinking horn and handed it to him, Maeglin having been dragged away by Rog to meet another local smith by the name of Tyelperinquar. "Why'd you agree to this?"

"Because I heard there would be food and drink, and if there is one thing I've learned from my apprenticeship under you, it is never to turn down free food and drink."

"Smart kid." She grinned.

At that moment Lómiel approached, holding an empty tankard up hopefully. "I was talking with my friends and they said your mead and beer are fantastic."

"Which would you like?" Telerunkë gestured to the rows of kegs awaiting consumption.

The Teleri tapped her chin, "mead, I think." At that moment she glanced over to the smaller Noldo lounging and watching his friend chatting rather amiably about alloys. "You are the most adorable person I've ever seen in my life!"

"I-uh- thank you?" Pityaruva blinked.

She pulled him into a hug, "and you have such cute curls! And nubby horns!" With that she put her chin atop his head, "I'm gonna marry you"

"Wait what?" He cast a bewildered look to Telerunkë, who merely waved him off with a smile that meant she knew he would be fine, even if he complained. "Can I at least know your name?" He managed, voice jumping a fifth.

"I'm Lómiel Turwiel, nice to meet you," she smiled, lines folded in the corners near her brown eyes.

The Noldo gave a bemused nod before he bowed, "an honor milady."

She paused near the debating smiths, "you don't need to do that, silly boy." At that Rog glanced up, "we're getting married," she explained.

"Ah! Blessings on you both," he grinned before clapping the Noldo on the back, "welcome to the clan again!"

"Uh, thank you?"

_ A look ahead at the community calendar, Elenya is the first annual brewer guild festival where we shall engage in a cultural exchange of ideas regarding beverages. Anarya marks two months since the members of the community of Ondolindë arrived in Sirion, a memorial service for the fallen and missing is planned for this time and all are welcome. Isilya is an open house sponsored by the spirit healers guild for all the refugees of Sirion, whether of Ondolindë, Nargothrond, Doriath, or somewhere else. All are welcome to learn about the methods employed by spirit healers and to sign up for sessions. Aldúya is a dream, fleeting and ephemeral, known only to the dreamseers of the Lindi as a definite passing. Menelya is a completely ordinary day, that will soon be forgotten in the distant swirling nothing of the past. Valanya is the scheduled first meeting of the new city council of Sirion, where all are encouraged to come and make their voices known. If you are unable to attend, speak in a whisper at the crows, they know what to do with the information when the time comes. _

Maeglin's eyes flicked to the children running towards them, watching as one collided smack with the back of Tyelperinquar's leg. The other Noldo's eyes widened, more startled than pained. Rog knelt down and picked up the child. "Are you alright Ealk?"

His nephew nodded, "I'm fine, Uncle," he grinned, gap toothed and cheerful as ever.

Both of the other smiths turned their attention to their friend, "I wasn't aware you had kinsmen." Maeglin tilted his head, "it is a good thing."

"Yes, yes it is," he smiled, ruffling the youngster's hair. "Maeglin, Tyelpe, may I introduce my second nephew, Ealk. Ealk, these are my friends Maeglin and Tyelpe."

He waved at them both, "you got horns! That's cool! Can I have horns when I'm your age?"

"Uh," the young Noldo blinked, suddenly self conscious. "We'll see..."

Fortunately the boy's attention had turned to Tyelperinquar, staring at him with an awestruck smile on his round face. "Wow, you're the prettiest elf I've ever seen... It's like you got stars stuck in your eyes."

The third smith returned the compliment with a bemused smile, "thank you?"

Ealk's eyes locked with the older elf's, proudly declaring, "I'm gonna marry you!"

Both Noldor startled at that, even as Rog smiled, returning the boy to the ground. He continued staring up at Tyelperinquar with the same bright grin until his brother arrived and shepherded him away. The Lindi clapped the bewildered elves on the shoulder. "Well there's one more wedding to look forward to!" He laughed as the two exchanged a look born of camaraderie amidst severe confusion.

"One more wedding?" Maeglin hazarded.

His friend nodded to where Pityaruva had been pulled into a full body hug by Lómiel, "aye, another wedding, though this one is a few years off yet."

Tyelperinquar remained silent, as he attempted to refrain from judgment on the situation. The child still had a good deal of growing up to do, and would forget about the declaration. After all, he recalled a story about his uncle Maitimo and great-uncle Arafinwë declaring upon meeting that they would marry not only one another, but also their entire family. This included their respective parents, siblings slash aunts and uncles, and in Maitimo's case grandparents. He reassured himself that children said things without particularly meaning them and returned his full attention to the discussion of how to craft higher quality steel.

_ Listeners... I may perish. I have consumed far more food than I intended, particularly the salmon chowder. The world has grayed at the corners of my mind, and I can hear the song of the sea. I loathe to leave behind you all, for you have been loyal companions, true as any I have ever known. Your friendship and trust is my second greatest, no third greatest treasure. To my first, beautiful, perfectly imperfect Tirohtar, I leave a last farewell, wrapped as ever in the thoughts of my love. You have been the light of the Trees, the Song of the Ever-Young, the Wind, and the whole of Eä to me. I love you, be safe on this journey without me. To my second treasure, Yaulë, may you find warm patches of sun, good places to scratch, and a willing leg to rub against. Take care of my beloved. And now listeners, as my thoughts grow weak and my spirit fades, I give you a last gift, the only gift I have to give. I present you, with the weather. _

Even as Tirohtar rolled his eyes and moved the slumbering Halyahendu to a patch of shade, Tulindo laughed before she made her way to Telerunkë. The Noldo took the former Lord of the Swallow's drinking horn and refilled the Balrog's Belch. "Still the best drink you make."

"You think so?" A surprising voice address, "I suppose I'll have to give it a try then."

She spun around to find a lady with golden hair, rippling silver in the tree-dappled sunlight. "Lady Artanis, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there." Tulindo bowed and moved out of the way.

"It's Lady Galadriel now," she grinned and handed over her horn to Telerunkë, "but really, when Tirion's foremost alcohol connoisseuse says something must be tried, attention must be paid."

Tulindo laughed, her fangs flashing, "I hardly qualify as that."

"I believe you do. You did set us up for the party after all." She laughed and took her filled horn back.

With that, the former Lord flicked her dark curls over her shoulder. She withdrew a vial full of horse venom and carefully added a few drops to the mix. "I still have that painting."

Impressed, Galadriel's eyebrows shot up. "You brought that painting with you?"

She shook her head. "No, it's in my room back in my family's house in Tirion."

The other elf laughed, "fair, they're quite the collector's item I hear."

"It's true, do you know how much I paid to get one?" A third voice added to their conversation. Another Noldo wandered in, smiling, "Tulindo, as I live and breathe. I haven't seen you since the civil service exam."

Tulindo's eyebrows shot up as the newcomer embraced her. "Lindëwen! How are you?"

"Fairing well enough," she grinned, "there's an entire writer enclave out here. Novelists, poets, essayists, you're going to love it." At which point Lindëwen frowned, spinning about briefly, "pity, I was going to introduce you to Lómiel, one of the writers in the enclave, but it seems she vanished." With a sigh and a shrug her attention fell to the drinking horns held by her friends. "What's that?"

"Balrog's Belch," Galadriel nodded to the barrel, "I haven't had the chance to try it yet. Join us?"

"I'd love to." She held out her horn to Telerunkë and waited while it was filled. "Thank you."

"You're more than welcome, looks like you got the last fill of it." The brewer thumped the empty keg. "Enjoy it while you can, you won't taste another drop for at least a decade."

Lindëwen and Galadriel stared at the amber liquid in their horns, the latter spoke. "I saw you add something, Tulindo, what was it?"

"Horse venom, good if you like a taste of death in your drinks." She chuckled. The other two glanced at one another and wondered what 'horse venom' meant before all three toasted and drank. Tulindo, used to the drink had her normal snort of fire. Both Galadriel and Lindëwen's eyes widened, then they let out a brief eruption of fire from their mouths. Their startled expressions made Tulindo double over laughing. "You should see your faces!"

Galadriel recovered her composure first, licking her lips thoughtfully. "Well, I am certainly going to purchase some when it comes back into stock."

Lindëwen shook her head briefly, "that was amazing."

The former Lord of the House of the Swallow grinned, "always happy to help."


	16. Things Left Behind

_Time is a curious commodity, it is bought and sold through actions and deeds. Yet can one even own a thing such as time?_

_Welcome to Sirion._

_Listeners, I bring you greeting on this day, for it is an exciting day of joy. As many of you are aware, tomorrow is the long awaited return of Tarnin Austa since the physical form of Ondolindë was destroyed. After at least a dozen years, maybe more, or less, of deliberation and debate over whether to continue the tradition, a consensus has been reached by the new City Council of Sirion. This year's festivities shall be led by both our beloved High King, as well as the Lord Círdan. In a statement delivered by one of our informants, the ceremony shall follow the basic format of previous years, including vendor stands after the ritual silence and supplication. Volunteers to participate should sign wavers for the use of their blood and internal organs in the ceremony. Ask your neighborhood alpacas for more information. And now a meditation on the inconsistency of time._

Salgant straightened as he headed down the incline that lead to his last stop. Galdor clapped him on the shoulder, "you can do this?"

"I- yes, yes you are right." The musician strode to the door. It had taken a very long time, apologizing to at least fifteen thousand people personally and privately took a good deal more time than he thought. Not to mention tracking them all down, and in some cases adopting a custom that Galdor had told him of, wherein he sat on doorsteps until he was acknowledged and allowed to say his piece. A rhythmic set of knocks announced their arrival.

"We're around back!" Shouted Tuor.

The pair glanced at one another and rounded the house to the beachfront where they could see Voronwë packing up a boat while Itaril and Tuor stood cataloging inventory. Their son, Eärendil was nowhere to be found. "Your Highness, where is your son?" Salgant asked.

"He's off with the Lord Círdan on his boat, they're crab fishing, and probably fighting a sea serpent or two along the way." She explained, tossing a fresh load of cargo into the net.

The older elf nodded, "then, if you don't mind, your Highness, I wish a word with you, your husband, and Voronwë."

Itaril nodded and flagged the mariner down off his ship. Tuor set aside his supplies list and together with Voronwë they dragged over another driftwood log to serve as a bench for Salgant and Galdor. The mariner stretched out as he studied the pair, "so I take it we're next on your penance list?"

He nodded, "yes, I had hoped this to be my last visit, but if the prince is out then I must still track him down."

"Good luck with that," Voronwë laughed, "hope you don't get sea sick. That boy spends more time on the water than we do. He's practically moved in with Círdan's family."

"I see, thank you for your help." With that, Salgant folded his hands and bowed his head. There was a reason he had saved Itaril and her family for last. He was fond of the princess like she was his own daughter. He had been out on the ice with her, watching her grow in the midst of that frigid world. Even back in Tirion, it had been Turukáno and Elenwë who'd requested his tutelage for her in the basics of music theory and performance. "You all know why I am here, so I shall not take any more of your time than I must."

_A meditation on the inconsistencies of time. Listeners, according to darling, charming Tirohtar, time progresses in a linear fashion one second per second and has since the world was sung into being. I am not here to argue about that. I would never disagree with a researcher. However time is also a subjective creation, bound to the whims of our minds. For some, seated in a quiet room with nothing but the sound of the blood inside and outside them is a bliss for which no end is needed. For others it is a wholly other form of torture because in those moments time becomes difficult to conceive, stretched and twisted beyond reason. It hurts and drains, sapping life by inches. You begin to feel your mind curl on itself. Why does time exist? How long have I been here? How long will I be here? Has anything ever existed beyond me? Do I even exist? Aching, twisted, you feel for anything to tell you how long you have existed. But you can't remember. This message brought to you by the Weaver's Guild of Sirion, this week all silks and brocades are half off._

When his apology finished, Salgant fell to his knees and pressed his forehead to the sand, the waves roared in his ears. The trio glanced between one another for several long, silent minutes. Tuor broke it first, "I think I can understand why you did it. I can't excuse it, but I understand where you were coming from."

Salgant lifted his head to study the human. "You do?"

He nodded, "I know for a long time I wanted to see my father, but then the king told me something. That the past is a looming dread beast, it stalks over your shoulder, but it can only hurt you if you do not understand it and learn from it. To move forward from it means that you must acknowledge it. But to try and revisit it any deeper than that is to be consumed by that."

At that the elf resumed bowing even as he let out a brief puff of laughter, "that does sound like His Majesty."

Itaril stood from her place on the driftwood bench and knelt beside her former tutor. "Salgant, we've come too far together to go through this. You've been my friend for a long time, stand up." She offered a hand to the bedraggled, disgraced lord and smiled. "Come, stand up."

"Your Highness..." He glanced up and took her hand.

"If you had come to me first, I doubt I could have forgiven you. However, hearing the others speak, I have reached a verdict." She regarded the musician for a moment. "Voronwë?"

The mariner pointed at the boat, "we're planning on leaving with the tide. Eärendil has his whole life ahead of him, and he won't understand. Look after the pipsqueak."

Galdor broke his silence at that, his gaze flicked between the three of them. "Why not take the lad with you?"

"Because," Itaril sighed with a heavy heart, "he is young and brave, and there is a girl he fancies."

Salgant frowned at that then glanced back at his friend, "permission to speak?"

"Aye," the other elf nodded. "Say what ye will."

"Your Highness, with all due respect, I would advise against this action." The disgraced elf returned his gaze to the sand. "Your father cares deeply for you, as do the people of this city. If you were to leave, especially now, without warning, it would wound them all greatly."

_I would now ask a favor of you, listeners, I would ask that you consider for a moment nothing. Do not continue to venture notions on the nature of time and its inconsistencies. Do not muse over what you will eat later, or whether you will be eaten. Listeners, a moment of absolute silence is upon us. A silence that we choose to take. This is not a silence forced upon us, but a silence given to us. Think of nothing. Do nothing. Be nothing. Empty yourself of all viscera and yearning. Discard past regrets and past bones. Let the gentle nothingness wash over you and into you. Become nothing. We shall all do this in three, two, one. And now that you are emptied of everything listeners, now that we have become nothing, we are prepared. Prepared for the true task I ask of you. I ask you all to accompany me, to the weather._

Considering this proposal carefully, Itaril shook her head, "Father will take care of them. He was the one they looked to before, and they will do so again."

Salgant's head rose, shaking at both the statement and at the sand crusting his hair. "No your Highness, we looked to you. You were the one who ensured our safety when Ondolindë fell, you were the one who declared the great march to Sirion. You are the one people still look to on the council for guidance." He paused, eyes closed, "Your Highness, you must recognize that you are also your father's heir. Artanáro Ereinion is of the line of Arafinwë, he places into the succession, but after you and your son. If your father dies in the efforts yet to come, you must take your place as the High Queen of the Noldor of Endórë."

Her eyes narrowed, "that's enough Salgant, thank you for your words but I must ask you to leave now."

He nodded and stood, "of course, my deepest apologies for overstepping my bounds. Farewell, your Highness."

Galdor rose, "don't worry about the lad, we'll look after 'em."

"Thank you." Voronwë nodded.

The pair departed, silent until they reached the top of the switchback trail that lead to the main city. The large elf clapped the musician on the shoulder. "You're right y'know."

"I am?"

"Aye, th' Princess may have lost all faith in this land, but she needs t' stay. Responsibility to the many outweighs the wants of the few or th' one." He gestured out at the city, "having a spot on the ruling council as well as the heir to the throne of th' High King, 's not an easy burden."

Salgant sighed and turned his eyes back down to the house, "I shall pray that she stays then, I would not wish to know what chaos would ensue, should the High King fall and his successor flee."

_The weather listeners, the weather has not left us yet. I feel it in my bones, enough to make my mind worry, as I awaken from the slumber. I fear a great storm looms just on the horizon beyond my sight, a storm made not of arms, but of weapons and words. A storm that shall threaten to tear down this city if we let it. Because the very nature of this storm shall divide us, turn us to hate and blame. We cannot give into it listeners. We have purged ourselves of the past, and may prepare for the future, free from the old. We must prepare now listeners, whether that storm comes tomorrow or a hundred years from now, it will wipe us out if we let it. Be vigilant, be safe, and look to the dawning skies for your salvation ._

_Good night, Sirion, good night._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up everyone, this is going to be on a brief hiatus during November for NaNoWriMo. I'm planning on posting one more chapter during that time sometime halfway through, other than that see you in December!


	17. Be Careful Making Wishes in the Dark (Dark)

_A moment of clarity listeners, a moment to breathe, the weather has left us once more. The stars come to greet us once more, the clouds have abandoned the horizons. I have wondered what it would be like to be a rain cloud, to touch people's hearts and hear their feelings, but then I realized how preposterous that sounds. After all listeners, the weather is not clouds, nor is it a storm. The weather much like your feelings is fleeting, ephemeral, a summer heat wave, a winter chill. It is there only as long as you let it be. A reminder that next week is the annual Sirion cook-off, and that we will be on a brief hiatus at the end of this report, as Tiro, darling, beautiful Tiro and I celebrate our first millennium of marriage. Fear not listeners, I shall return to you in time for all the festivities._

_Good night, Sirion, good night._

A knock came on the glass of Turukáno's office window. It drew him to a pause, as everyone else had the last week of court off to prepare for the opening of the new palace, as the old city hall simply couldn't handle the amount of traffic they took in. Outside sat a crow, studying him with an exasperated expression. He leaned back in his seat, opened the latch and invited the bird onto the perch. One hand fished for the small dish of water while the other took the missive. The crow, once unburdened, took a few grateful gulps then fled the scene.

Perplexed, the High King studied the note.

"He's making his move tonight. The north end of town. Hurry."

His mind raced to try and place the handwriting on the unsigned note. That was until his eyes fell to the small wax seal that had held it shut.

Red wax embossed with an eight point star.

The elf stood and slid the note into his robes, outside he found Angalen striding up the hallway, their dark eyes fixed on him. They paused mid-stride and saluted, "Your Majesty."

"Lieutenant Angalen, excellent timing, I need you to collect my council, tell them to be well armed." The warrior bowed, pulled an about face and strode back down the hall. He made his way to the armory to make his own preparations.

It took little time for the former ruling council of Gondolin, now the High King's inner council to assemble. Half of them had strapped on armor and weapons, the rest carrying it in their haste to reach city hall. They assembled in the entrance hall while Turukáno sat on the stairs, finishing with the last of his equipment. "My apologies for summoning you all in such haste during your reprieve, but a situation has emerged."

"What sort of situation, Uncle?" Maeglin tilted his head.

"As some of you may be aware," he began, "I recently came into the knowledge that the Sindar and Lindi refugees of Doriath brought a Silmaril with them into the city."

Several of the assembled Noldor startled at that, Lutumo frowned, his feathers raised, "why would they even have something like that?"

"To explain it now would take too long." Turukáno shook his head, "I need you to go find my cousin, Galadriel, her husband and Gil-Galad. Maeglin, go find Tyelperinquar and Lindëwen, Egalmoth, Tulindo, I'll need a dozen of your quietest and stealthiest archers. Rog you're tasked with the front gate, Angalen will send Tuor to meet you there. Laurëfindë, Aegthelion, you'll come with me, see if we can't stop this thing before it starts."

"Yes sir," came the collective answer.

Egalmoth stretched and grinned, patting the crossbow at his hip, "well Glossiel is excited."

The groups departed, the assembled lords shouting out orders at the assembled guards and runners. Activity flurried in the streets as people made ready, soldiers took their positions on the fortifications, and in the streets. At the gate the Lord of the Fountain kissed his husband farewell, before he accompanied his friends up the road. "What tipped you off to this?"

"A note, from someone I did not expect." Turukáno patted his chest, where under steel and leather sat the tip. "I owe it to both the sender and the people to resolve this peacefully. The Teleri and the Sindar have been more than accommodating to us, they should not see such bloodshed."

Laurëfindë frowned as he cast a sidelong glance at the other elf, "are you certain it will come to that?"

"No, but if it must, then it shall."

"You sound like you have a plan," the warrior smiled.

"I do, it is a long shot and could just as easily work against us." He sighed as they ascended into the surrounding trees.

The forest bustled with the noise of night, owls, prairie jackals, wolves, and deer flittered about. A few bats dipped and darted between the trees as the moon reached its zenith. The leaves rustled with the breeze. The High King of the Noldor lifted his lupine face and sniffed, three of them, a little ways off, the reek of blood mingled with their scent. How they intended to do this with only three people was beyond him, but that mattered little. Turukáno let his features relax back to normal, as the faint sound of footsteps greeted them.

A trio of elves, dressed in full armor, faces grim, emerged from the underbrush. "Maitimo, Makalaurë, Ambarussa," he greeted. "Out for a stroll among the green and stars?"

"Turukáno," Ambarussa pleaded, dark eyes wide, "please, move."

"I'm sorry, I can't do that." He shook his head, "this city is full of innocent people, our people, and is under my protection as High King."

Maitimo's thunderous, monotone voice cut through the clearing, sending a shudder down everyone's spines. "Move. Or you will be made to move."

The High King met his cousin's dead eyes, remembering when the light had left them at Nirnaeth Arnodied. "Maitimo, if you value the memory of my brother turn around and go home."

The taller elf loomed over him, "do not speak to me of Findekáno."

"Then do not make me kill the love of his life." He snarled, fangs bared and eyes gold, "so, if you had any respect for the love he bore you, you would turn around right now, walk away and go home. What would he say if he could see you now? Attacking innocent people again, until the seas foam red with blood? Maitimo, I ask you, as your kin, as your friend, as your King, turn around now. Please. I could never face my brother again if I have to strike you down."

A sigh rolled through the elf's body at that, his eyes closed as he fought back some pained memory. "Someday though, and someday soon, I will come for that Silmaril."

"I know," Turukáno sighed, "and may Findekáno's spirit forgive me when it does." He nodded to Makalaurë and Ambarussa, "good night to you, and may Lady Est ë 's blessings find you."

"Turukáno," Makalaurë nodded briefly as he turned to leave.

"Cousin," Ambarussa chimed, followed by mouthing 'thank you' to him before he also departed.

Once the trio were well out of earshot, Aegthelion heaved a sigh, "well that could have gone worse."

"Agreed," the king sighed and turned his gaze up to one of the archers, "follow them, I trust they've gone home, but I'll take no chances."

The archer nodded and disappeared into the canopy. Laurëfindë stroked his beard thoughtfully, "we may yet remedy this whole situation."

"And which situation would that be?" Turukáno raised an eyebrow as they made their own start down the path towards the city.

"The division amongst our people, the war against the Dark, the fact your grandson is a terrible parent."

That stopped the elf in his tracks, "what?!"

"He spends days on end at sea, I don't think he's been home in months." Laurëfindë shrugged, "at least that was the talk I heard around Lord Círdan's house. Apparently he and Eärendil became quite good friends, with the exception that he has failed in the parenting department. Which I hear is also the complete opposite of Lord Círdan's adoption problem."

Aegthelion gave a sage nod, "it's true, we had their twins over for a play date with our niblings the other day, and Elwing was bemoaning her husband's absence."

Turukáno heaved a sigh, "as soon as he makes port again, let me know. I need to have words with that boy about parental responsibility."

"Yes sir," his friend replied. "A question if I may." The king nodded, and he continued, "who was it who sent you the missive informing us of what they intended to do?"

"I believe it was Ambarussa." He retrieved the crumpled note and picked off a few bits of fur, "I am under the impression he would love nothing more than to wash his hands of that oath."

Laurëfindë shrugged before he stretched, "I can't say I blame him, at least someone among them is trying to take responsibility."

Aegthelion's teeth grit, "are you forgetting what happened in Alqualondë?!"

The other warrior's face fell at that, "I regret we couldn't find your brother before we left."

"I- you-" he steadied himself, "it is in the past now... and there is nothing any of us can do about it." He took several steps ahead. "I will not forgive them, you know."

The other two glanced at one another, "I understand," Turukáno nodded. "Go on  and have a good night Aegthelion."

"Thank you, your Majesty," he bowed and set off towards his home.

Laurëfindë stretched, "do you think there is any hope for them to redeem themselves?"

The king considered carefully for a while, then shrugged, "I personally do not see how, with my brother dead Maitimo has nothing stopping him now. Makalaurë would see reason, but not as long as Maitimo leads him. As for Ambarussa, in some ways I pity him."

"Surprised to hear you say that, after how many of his and his brother's pranks you were on the receiving end of. At least according to your sister."

"Considering how many she had a hand in..." Turukáno shook it off. "He wants out, but there is no out for an oath of that magnitude, they would either have to all forsake it, or succeed. I'm not sure which is the more favorable outcome. But if this rift within the Noldor is not sealed then there is no hope to defeat the darkness that even now looms from the north."

That drew the warrior to a pause and he watched the other elf's back for a moment, "do you think we can defeat him?"

Pausing his stride, he glanced over his shoulder, "what I think doesn't matter. A wise elf told me once that a king must be the paragon of his people, their will made manifest. He must be wiser, stronger, and more ambitious than all of them." His face turned skyward, "if I don't set my sights high, then I'm no king at all, am I."

Laurëfindë smiled and knelt, "and my sword shall be at your side, not because your brother asked me to follow you, but because you are a person worth following, to whatever end."

Turukáno blinked and faced the elf kneeling before him, "thank you. Now, shall we inform the rest of the high council what has happened?"

"Yes, your Majesty," the warrior sprang to his feet and fell in beside his friend.

At the top of the ridge overlooking Sirion, Ambarussa's gaze fell on his cousin, a wistful expression on his features. "Pityo, let's go," Makalaurë touched his shoulder gently.

"Right..." he sighed, "I'm so tired Cano."

"As am I, little brother, as am I."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not saying that Egalmoth has Bianca, but Egalmoth has Bianca.
> 
> Thanks to everyone for being patient, NaNo is going well. For those of you who also read my other fic, Sport of Námo, that one should update tomorrow so stay tuned!


	18. A Moment to Breathe

_The days grow long and the nights grow cold, brace yourselves, the darkness is coming._

_Listeners, first thank you to all of the kind gifts and wishes to Tiro and I. Darling, beautiful Tiro and I have spent our hiatus from our lives relaxing and enjoying the world. As many of you know our lives are fleeting, and so it is my most solemn duty at the end of today's report to make an announcement. This announcement will condemn some of you to the Void. And for that I feel as much regret as the confines of my career permit me. That being the case I shall attempt to offset this grim news with the all the cheer and optimism that my ancient spirit bears. Not to be confused with the ancient spirit bears that roam the former realm of Doriath. As we all know of the five apex predators on this continent, ancient spirit bears are the most vicious and have existed since the world was first sung into being. And now a look at financial news._

Laurëfindë smiled as Aegthelion and Rog bade Turukáno, Círdan, and Gaurandir, the mariner's husband, farewell. None of them wanted this confrontation, but Turukáno was right, Eärendil was neglecting his parental duty. However subjecting Elrond and Elros to the conflict was wholly uncalled for. So the king brought his great-grandchildren to his inner circle and friends. He had been visiting with Aegthelion, when his friend had practically begged him to stay and help watch the kids for their stay. While Laurëfindë had agreed, it was with some reluctance, kids were not in his realm of expertise.

"We're going to go down to the beach," Aegthelion smiled, "would you care to join us? Lómiel and Pityaruva are down there, they have alcohol."

"Ah my friend you know how to con me into anything." He chuckled draping on the other Noldo. "Very well, lead me to this ocean view."

Rog shepherded the twins ahead of them down to where the others waited. Gil-Galad, Mírdan, Ealk, and Niphredil had already taken to the surf, with Pityaruva downing the rest of his drink and joining them. "Lómiel, the twins are here."

"Ah, perfect." She smiled.

It didn't take long for the boys to run out and join their friends with Rog following after, leaving the remaining adults to the drinks. Laurëfindë pulled up a spot on the carved driftwood benches near the bonfire, already crackling in the late afternoon air. "I see you've been at my sister's." He held up his drink.

The Teleri grinned, "considering your sister provides me with alcohol, and tea. Also she's the best copy editor I've ever had."

"Fair."

She sat down on another bench, "I did have a question about your sister."

"Of course."

"Are you older or younger?"

"Twins," Aegthelion answered, "they've been bickering about which one of them is older since well before I met them."

The Noldo frowned, "well excuse me for trying to have some authority."

"Authority my arse." He laughed, "you two never listen to each other."

"Really?" Lómiel raised an eyebrow, "I listen to my sister."

"Trust me, the stories I can tell."

She laughed, "well go on then, this I have to hear."

"Well..." Aegthelion mused. "We were in Tirion, just after I took my post with King's Guard. And it was Prince Findaráto's begetting day-"

"Sweet Yavanna why...?" Laurëfindë's face flushed, even as he motioned to his friend to continue.

"As I was saying, Prince Findaráto's begetting day. Our beloved friend, Findekáno, asked us to help him acquire alcohol, and in exchange we could come to the party. Well as it turned out we acquired some rather potent stuff, as his sister had foisted one of her experiments on us. We arrive at the party, there was dinner and dancing, and after a few songs, Findekáno drags his cousin over to have a drink. We crack open the experimental keg, after a round and a half, Prince Findaráto pulls off his outer robes and undershirt. So Lauro takes it as a challenge and matches him. At which point Artanis and Írissë start harassing and ribbing them to drink and strip. Two pints later and both of them are as naked as their birth and standing at the gate of the private garden in the palace. And Lauro, my darling brother from another family, challenges the prince to a battle of courage, they were to complete a circuit around the city without stopping or being caught by the guards." He paused, watching the other Noldo's face light up.

"What happened?" Lómiel leaned forward, fascinated.

"We did," the warrior broke his silence, "and my sister, darling she is, was watching out the window of our house. She then went to the artisan district and commissioned every artist of any talent to recreate the event. Within a fortnight the paintings were banned for the depiction, and became the hottest artistic commodity both within the palace and the whole city of Tirion."

_Today in financial news, it would seem the local livestock auction house suffered a catastrophe when two dozen head of rainbow sheep attacked several of the auctioneers. Apparently they were ill informed about the condition of the sheep and upon investigation were mauled. The auctioneers were taken to the healers' guildhall where they are expected to recover with most of their corporeal forms intact. Other markets have taken this as an omen that they should shut down for a few months and reassess whether the current system is feasible for continued existence. To be completely honest listeners, I don't see why they feel this is necessary, after all everyone knows that sheep attacks are so common nowadays that they cannot possibly be taken as a bad omen. Besides no one has died in hours from a sheep attack. Really, it's a complete overreaction._

The three adults out in the water with the kids drifted back carrying the four exhausted children, the adolescent Mírdan protesting being carried to get cleaned up before bed. "We'll be back in a minute," Pityaruva grinned, "the kids are tuckered out."

"There's a wash station in Uncle's Sea Shanty Shack." Lómiel answered.

"Got it," he nodded before he spat out another wad of sand.

She giggled and watched them all leave. "Anyway, as you were saying, that sounds like quite the adventure. What happened to the art?"

"That's the thing, they're something of a joke item among the noble houses. They still exist, unless the Lord Arafinwë has had them all burned at this point." Aegthelion shrugged.

"Some friend you are," Laurëfindë rolled his eyes, "I know for a fact you have one."

"Had. I bequeathed it to my brother before I left Alqualondë."

Lómiel tilted her head, "I didn't know you have a brother, Thorno."

"Yes, I haven't seen him in quite a long time though." He shook his head, "he was still in Alqualondë when... I don't know if he survived."

She gave a nod of understanding, "Ruvo told me a little about it. Though he said it was something no one enjoyed talking about, and I begin to see why. I can't imagine what it was like."

The two Noldor glanced to one another and sighed, "the Darkening, was..."

Laurëfindë clapped his friend on the shoulder, "it wasn't your fault."

"I was captain of the King's Guard, I should have- I should-"

"Aegthelion Sornorauto! Now is not the time for regrets. What happened to the King was a tragedy, yes, but there was no way you could have prevented it. You should not be dead for that, despite what you may think."

At that moment a new voice joined the conversation, "Thorno, are you well?"

"I-" he glanced up at Rog, who slid in beside him and pulled his head to his chest. "I don't know."

Lómiel tensed, now worried about the Noldo. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring it up."

"It's not your fault," he reassured as he wobbled over to the containers of alcohol, "I should be better at speaking about this. It happened so long ago after all. Besides, I wouldn't be here if I didn't. I would never have made as many wonderful friends, fallen in love, and made a family. Who knows, maybe someday my brother and I will be reunited and we can welcome him to the fold?"

Rog smiled, "I think that sounds delightful."

_Tonight listeners, look to the stars, and behold that they have begun to rain down upon us. It is a sign, a sign that the end is upon us, run listeners, run! Do not walk, for it is already to late. I do not know what can shelter us from such an onslaught. This is clearly some foul ploy of the Darkness to rob us of the first and longest lights of the world. What are we to do apart from cower and supplicate ourselves to the end and our inevitable deaths from above. I pray, listeners, all of you are safe and away from the calamity that befalls our city. I shall once more place my life on the line for you my beloved listeners, for darling, beautiful Tirohtar, who has risked his life time and again to unravel the mysteries of the world. He told me once, a thousand thousand nights ago that researchers from the Discoveries and Innovations department are always fine, but I don't know what I can do apart from brave this destruction. I shall, to the best of my power, shield you with the only aegis I bear, as I protect you from this oncoming storm with, the weather._

"Is it just me," Lómiel scratched her head as the group turned their attention to the star shower overhead, "or is Halyahendu given to extreme bouts of hyperbole?"

Gil-Galad shook his head as he joined the group, clad in loose leggings and retrieving a flask of alcohol for himself, "I've noticed it too."

"He's always been like that," the three other Noldor replied in unison.

Mírdan cracked a smile as he settled in beside his older brother, "that is actually really fun. He always manages to brighten up my day."

Rog smiled, and ruffled his nephew's hair, "you should go to bed."

"I'm almost an adult," he protested, "I can stay up!"

"Let him stay, darling," Aegthelion smiled.

Gil-Galad draped an arm over his little brother's shoulder. "Back to the subject, you're serious about Halyahendu being like this since the beginning?"

They nodded, Laurëfindë twirled the tip of his beard in thought, "I remember the first time I heard him as town crier, he worked the Noble Quarter, back then it was only rarely hyperbolic. Something about an integrity to the truth when I asked him once when I was on guard duty. I hear he once said something about one of the House of Finwë and was evicted from the Noble Quarter."

"You missed out," Pityaruva chuckled, "he ended up working the slums, I've been listening to him ramble since I was a kid when I was walking to my tutoring."

Lómiel smiled and kissed him on the cheek, "I think that's the first time I've seen you smile when you talked about your childhood."

"Well I'm far enough removed from it now... wow, I am well and far removed from it now."

"Thank you for making us feel old," the two warriors complained.

"You are old."

The Teleri, the young Noldo, and the Lindi broke out laughing. "You three act like such good friends it's hard to believe its only recently you've gotten to know one another."

"To be fair we," Aegthelion gestured to the Noldo at her side and himself, "didn't even meet until the crossing."

Mírdan perked up at that, "crossing?"

"Yes," Laurëfindë picked up a couple of logs and added them to the fire. "It seems so long ago now, but it's only right that the family knows..."

 


	19. One Yesterday

_As the ending approaches, a look back begins. To know how the story ends, one must know how the story began._

_Welcome to the Helcaraxë._

A fresh howl of frigid wind swept across the ice. The stars shone overhead, untouched by any clouds. Summer on the Helcaraxë was the most perilous time, for the ocean heated the ice, breaking it and cracking without warning. Many of their number had fallen to the watery depths below. The elves huddled closer to one another against the blast.

"Are you alright, Elenwë?" Turukáno smiled as it passed, his wife withdrawing her head from the shelter of their winter cloaks, along with their daughter.

"I'm fine," she shook the crust of snow from her tightly coiled bangs, even as the child squirmed away from her. "Itaril..."

The elfling pouted up at her, "I wanna go explore!"

"Don't wander off," her mother cautioned.

"I won't. I promise, I thought I saw one of those sword whales!" She grinned and pulled up her hood, zipping off to take her uncles by the hand, dragging them forward.

The Noldo sighed and stretched, "they indulge her too much."

"It's good for her," she retorted.

"I know I just..."

"Worry too much?"

He smiled at the Vanya, "yes. Someone in this family has to."

The writer flicked him on the nose with the tip of her glove, "keep that up and you'll worry yourself sick. Again."

Pouting the scholar relented, "I shall try to refrain from doing so in the future."

The pair surveyed the surrounding group in the caravan. Findekáno and Arakáno had gone a short way off with their daughter, examining the ice for signs of narwhals, while their father and Findaráto stood plotting out where to send foragers next with Írissë. Nearby, Laurëfindë and his sister were assisting with administration of tea to those suffering the worst from the cold. Among them Tyelperinquar, shuddering against his mother's side. Turukáno pitied his young cousin, still underage and abandoned by his father, not that he could forgive Curufinwë's actions, but abandoning his son still left a particularly foul taste in his mouth. Another young elf sat nearby, drawing pictures in a snowbank, no older than said cousin. At least the children were taking time to be just that.

Elenwë trotted over to Lindëwen, Tyelperinquar's mother, and knelt beside them. "Are you holding up alright, Lindë?"

Her friend nodded, "yes, I'll be alright." A wry smile crossed her lips, "all of this wind, do you remember the time that we were in Alqualondë and that storm kicked up while we were out on the ocean."

"This is a peculiar time to think about that." She laughed. 

"Seemed perfectly fine to me," the poet countered.

"You always say that," Elenwë shook her head, "I suspect when we get to Endórë it'll be time for another of our writing contests."

Lindëwen smiled, "you know me too well."

A shudder beside her drew her attention. Tyelperinquar moaned in the middle of his fever, Elenwë sighed, then cast a glance to where her own child had run off with her uncles to explore. For all that the elves were hardy and surviving on minimal food, the chill air held a grudge against them. One more curse from the enemy of the world.

"The weather is getting better." The novelist shook her head, clapping her Noldo friend on the shoulder, "hopefully it holds."

"Agreed," she smiled at Elenwë. "Come on darling, let's go see if we can find a fire for you."

They supported Tyelperinquar over to one of the campfires that sprung quickly during the breaks in the march. The two settled him close to the crackling, faint warmth, "we'll go find you something to drink." His mother reassured.

As the writers departed, the child nearby stood and silently trotted over to the shivering elf. Without a word the other youth pulled out a flask of some form or another from the depths of his clothes. He shoved it between the layers of the smith's clothing, and within a minute his shivering eased. The writers returned to find the other youth patting Tyelperinquar's head. 

"You're very kind, thank you," Elenwë smiled at him. The boy's head snapped up before he bolted, scrambling and stumbling through the snow at a run. He disappeared in the same direction that Itaril had dragged her uncles towards.

Lindëwen tilted her head but focused on her son, "how do you feel?"

"Mum?" he managed, "where... who...?"

"It's alright, drink some tea." She pressed one of the warm water skeins to him."

"Thank you."

"Mama!" A shout rose over the ice, "Come see! Come see!"

Itaril came jogging up to the edge of camp, bouncing up and down. The poet waved her friend off, "I'll see you in a little bit."

"Yes."

With that Elenwë picked up her war spade, and went to her daughter, "What is it my little heart?"

"We found sword whales!" Itaril babbled, "this way, this way!"

She bent found her daughter's hand, "lead on sweetie." 

As they walked, they passed Turukáno, taking in the view while he paused to pitch their tent. He waved to his family, who waved back, as a deep rumble crackled through the ground below their feet. A fissure in the ice snapped forward, arced and branched as a lightning strike on Arda. They froze as the wind kicked up, making Itaril stumble. At that tiny motion the ice dumped both of them into the ocean below. The bottom dropped out of the Noldo's stomach while he charged forward, cloak flying from his shoulders before he dove into the water. 

Despite the ocean heat causing the ice to crack, it was still frigid and Turukáno had to will himself to not to gasp at how it struck him. The salt stung his eyes, unlike his half-Teleri cousins, the scholar had little practice in the art of ocean swimming, but this was hardly the time to dwell on that. Squinting into the dark he could just make out Itaril, floating limp and lifeless below him. Something shot past him, and he flailed for a moment before he dove deeper. His arm seized his daughter around her waist and he fled back to the opening in the ice.

Findekáno and Arakáno both reached down and hauled her out of the water. Before they could seize him, Turukáno submerged once more, now searching desperately for Elenwë. Movement in the water, about another twenty feet down. Spurred on, the elf found his wife, blood seeped into the water, even as she struggled. He circled around her, another elf in the water, struggling against a large boulder that her cloak had curled around. Turukáno launched himself forward, numbed and gloved fingers struggling against the buckle closing the thick garment. 

_Darling_ , he felt the touch of her mind on his. _Where is our daughter?_

_Safe_ , he soothed as he could feel his mind also numbing from the cold.

She smiled as her hand caressed his cheek. _Good._

_Elenwë?_

The Vanya pressed a kiss to his lips, as his mind fell quiet.

~

When he came around, Turukáno found the thin ceiling of a tent. “Your Highness?” Aegthelion’s voice caught his attention.

“Aegthelion…?” He sat up, panicked. “Elenwë!”

At that the warrior’s face turned grim while he replaced the frost bear pelt on his shoulders. “Your wife… I’m sorry. By the time you both were recovered she’d lost too much blood…”

“Where is she?”

“Your father’s tent,” Aegthelion jutted his chin to where Ñolofinwë had pitched his camp. “Your daughter is with Findekáno.”

“Good…” He fell back against the bedroll. “I saw someone else down there.”

“Yes, the boy that pulled you out. He’s with Lauro and his sister, apparently Telerunkë knows him.”

“Would you send him to me?”

“Yes your Highness.” Aegthelion bowed his head before he crawled from the tent.

Silent minutes passed while Turukáno wept . The other half of his soul had perished, the reality was slow to set in. Even as the absence in his soul ached where she had been torn away. One arm fell across his eyes, shielding the ugly sobs that shook his body. He could feel the tears and snot crusting on his face when a rustle came at the flap. He hastily sat up and scrubbed at his face. “Enter.”

A boy ducked into the tent, eyes red rimmed and glossy, and Turukáno noticed him shiver far more than was warranted for the cold alone. “Y-You w-wanted to see me, your- your Highness?” 

“Yes.” He beckoned the youth to sit. “Why?”

He froze, eyes fixed on the prince. “Why what?”

Turukáno frowned, eyes focused on the floor of the tent. “Why did you jump in? You had no reason to help. You don’t look like a glory seeker or someone who wants to gain favor. So why?”

The youth frowned, even as he continued to shake and stammer. “Do I need a reason t-to help someone?”

“No…” He sighed, then nodded to the boy, “Thank you.” 

“B-but why? I-I-I couldn’t help her?” He rubbed at his eyes anxiously.

As the prince sighed, Aegthelion stuck his head in, “your Highness, someone here to see you.”

Itaril bounded in and wrapped her whole body around her father’s arm. “Papa! You’re alive!”

“I’m alive.” He reassured and kissed the top of her head. 

The young elf stood and bowed, “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, some deep and distant sorrow in his features as he escaped the tent.

~

The mood around the bonfire fell silent. “Wow,” Lómiel whispered, for what else could she say?

Rog had wrapped an arm around his husband. “That is quite the story.”

“I suspect if you asked anyone who made the journey you would get a completely different version of events.” Laurëfindë held up his empty glass. “But here we are.”

Gil-Galad let out a low whistle, “and I am glad for it. What do you think Tano?” He jostled his brother. “Tano?” The group looked to find the young Lindi had fallen asleep, clinging to his adopted sibling’s sleeve. The Noldo smiled, “looks like it’s bedtime for us.”

The remainder waved farewell as the first colors of dawn painted the sky. “I think today will be a good day.” Pityaruva smiled.

Aegthelion studied him for a moment, “why did you jump in after them?”

“Who knows,” he shook his head. “I guess I wanted to repay her kindness to me… Or maybe I didn’t want the Princess to suffer…” he shrugged, “point is here we are, and I think I want to make whiskey flapjacks.”

“Lauro, would you like to stay for breakfast?” Lómiel offered.

He stood and stretched with a smile, “I believe I shall."

_Listeners, the weather has passed, and with it all the hope and joy I have brought you over these long years. I have striven for centuries to offer not only the news but a bright spark for tomorrow’s faith and bliss. But this moment, this instant I have been goven to pass along to you may be the darkest in my history. My work has taken me to dark places indeed. I spoke once of the death of King Finwë from the darkened slums of Tirion. I spoke of the treason of King Fëanáro from the shores of Alqualondë. And I spoke of the darkness of our city. But now I bring a proclamation, which hereafter says. ‘From the desk of Turukáno, High King of the Noldor - as of this day, I hereby commit the unified forces of the Quendi, the Secondborn, and the Children of Aulë, He Who Shaped the Lands, to war against the forces of Moringotto, so called Morgoth by many. I do not make this decision lightly, but if we are to know peace and prosperity, we shall only find it on the other side of this. May the Valar and the One protect us all and show mercy.’’ There is nothing else I can add, for what else is left to say._

  
_Good bye, Sirion, good bye._


	20. Reunion - First Movement

_"In death, sacrifice, in peace, vigilance, in war, victory." - High King Turukáno at some point probably._

_Farewell to Beleriand._

Turukáno let out an exhausted roar before his teeth tore into another orc throat, he spat it out on the ground. He would never get used to the taste, even if he ripped apart every orc in Angband. His eyes flicked about the endless mob now surrounding him, all of them had frozen, and a slow rumble rose from the gates and spread over the field. Overhead the dragons screamed, their own foul language mingling with the unholy chorus of orcs now bellowing and cheering. The rumble grew until a scaled and clawed hand rose up and gripped the watchtower at the left end of the gate, the rock crumbled like a twig. The bottom dropped out of his stomach, Glamdring shook in his hands as another claw rose, crushing the other watchtower.

The howl that followed was less of a roar and more a physical wall of sound. Orc and elf alike crumpled to the ground, hands on their ears. The High King stumbled, the creep of blood on his skin trickled over his fingers, now clutched on his ears. The world had gone silent, his vision swam. It was luck, he thought, that the orcs now were in a similar state. His eyes cast to the blacked out sky, a head, illuminated by the thousand fires on the battlefield loomed over him. A dragon, he guessed by the horns and scales.

It was over.

He had escaped the fall of his city, just to delay the inevitable. He had led his people into their greatest ruin. He would die now, him and all his people. What history remained after Morgoth won would claim this the greatest folly of all. And it would all be on him. The wind bowled him over then, no, not the wind, the beat of two wings, two wings that extinguished what light was left on the battlefield. He imagined it would sound the way that storm had all those years ago, howling anger and hatred. The elf found his feet once more, swaying violently with each step.

Turukáno turned his gaze once more to the orcs at hand. He would die. He would join his family in the Halls of Mandos, but he would not die on his knees, waiting for the end to find him. He would die the way they all had, the way his father, his brothers, his sister had- on his feet, screaming his defiance to his last breath. Let history call him a fool, it would never call him a coward. It was a sloppy, wavering lope, even as he drew up his sword, ready to fight them.

The ground pitched.

Rock, lava, and dust filled the air as the impact kicked his chest, the air punched from his lungs. Light filtered through the hole in the sky, illuminating the body of the dragon, now crumpled in a heap on the mountainside. How? No. It didn't matter how. All that mattered now was the last push. His strength renewed, Turukáno swayed to his feet anew. A second stumbling charge followed, sword met flesh and he decapitated one orc, but the swing threw his shoddy balance off completely. As he regained his feet an arrow jammed into the back of his leg. He dropped to his knee, snarling up at the orcs now swarming him again even as they ignored their own plight. So be it, if he was going down, he would take as many of these spawn with him as he could.

A gleam of Noldorin steel sheared through two of the orcs, limbs slid to the ground, his mind filled in the faint squelch and slap that his ears failed to detect. Behind them an elf arrived, a war spade in hand, black blood on blue patina armor. They cleared the area, fluid and efficient, until one of the few remaining orcs tripped his savior, they recovered but their helmet flew from their head. Once the orc crumpled, war spade in their chest, Turukáno had a clear view of their face.

His heart skipped several beats, so much that he had to ensure something hadn't stabbed him from behind.

Dark eyes, fierce and determined, beneath fine golden eyebrows, hair short enough that it appeared it had once been shaved clean off. A smile, accompanied by the gleam of recognition in those dark eyes. He shouted, his own voice invisible to his ears, even as he felt his throat ripple with the effort. He watched those smooth lips mouth his own name. They ran for one another, and the newcomer swept him off his feet, before pressing a kiss to his mouth.

Elenwë

Alive and well, the love of his life, the missing half of his soul. Tears welled in his eyes, which she wiped away. Before he could react, her head snapped up, spade again in hand, as he twisted about, he found a fresh batch of orcs barring the way towards the rear guard now rallying towards them. They smiled at one another, exchanged another kiss and ran forth.

~

"How does that feel?" Varnasérë's voice echoed in his ears, even as the Maia of Estë removed their hand from his head.

He winced, "not so loud... please?"

"Next time, don't stand so close to the giant world-ending dragon." She grumbled with a tired smile and stood, "give it a few hours for your ears to adjust. Now if you'll excuse me."

Turukáno nodded, as the healer ducked out, Elenwë stepped in, a tired smile on her lips. "You're alive," he managed, voice dry.

"Yes," she sat down beside him, "the Valar are leading the final assault, Uncle Aro and Aunt Nerdanel are with them."

He nodded, "good. I should be out there."

"Give yourself some credit." She whispered, and pressed a kiss to his cheek, "you've been working too hard again I see."

Cheeks colored, he changed the subject, "you're back, heart of mine, how?"

"The Lord of the Halls permitted me to play his sport and earn my freedom. When I heard you were alive, when our grandson arrived on the shores, I wanted to see you."

"But... after what happened... on the ice-" his words were silenced with a kiss.

Elenwë stroked his cheek, "I never blamed you, not once."

Tears welled in his eyes and his head bowed to her shoulder, holding her close. His heart, his world, for the first time in longer than he cared to think, he could feel the steady rhythm of her life against him. Her fingers stroked through his hair, soothing, holding, reminding.

~

Two days passed since the fall of Ancalagon, when Arafinwë came to him. "Turukáno," he smiled, embracing his nephew. "Good to see you again."

"And you, Uncle."

"We've finished clearing out the remains of the filth in the fortress. As King on this side, I come on behalf of your Aunt Findis, who has taken the role of High King of the Noldor on the other side." He sighed and motioned them to sit at the campfire before his command tent.

"I take it this isn't the warm family reunion I've craved." The elf sighed and scratched at his crown.

His uncle shook his head, "there will hopefully be time for that later. But I have a crisis situation, one that I would like handled quietly. We found, well you can imagine what we found, the Valar have taken them into custody, obviously. But you know our family. You know what your cousins will do."

"I know." Turukáno heaved a sigh as he considered, "enough blood has been spilt over a set of shiny rocks for the next ten thousand years." After a silent consideration, an idea occurred to him, "Elenwë said Aunt Nerdanel came with you."

The diplomat nodded, "yes, Mahtan and Helyanwë elected to remain behind, to assist the city. I believe Carnimírë is here as well."

"Send her and Aunt Nerdanel to the tent where the Valar have taken them, I have a plan."

Arafinwë smiled, "right." He stood up, armor creaking with the effort, "you've done well, Turukáno. I'm proud of you."

He gave a faint, lopsided smile, "it hasn't been easy. Is Mum here?"

"Yes, she's head of the supply caravan guard. Shall I send her to you when this is over?"

"Please."

With that Turukáno also stood and the two parted ways. He found Egalmoth lounging by one fencepost, polishing his crossbow. "Egalmoth, have you seen Rog anywhere?"

"Yeah, he's down in medical, your Majesty." The Sinda glanced up, bowed, then resumed his work.

"How badly is he injured?" Turukáno grew worried.

The other elf shook his head, "not a scratch on him, giant crazy bastard. His oldest nephew, Eagle division, they haven't said if he'll make it yet." 

The Noldo nodded, "thank you." As he left the command compound, he found Elenwë, her war spade under one arm, "my heart, would you join me on an errand?"

"Always," she leaned and kissed his cheek. "Where are we going?"

"To ask a friend for a favor." They clasped hands and made their way down to the medical area. Healers bustled in and out carrying supplies, forms, and bodies. Rog was easy to spot, fretting in front of one tent the way he was. The king wondered if the Lindi glared at the tent hard enough it would combust.

Elenwë raised an eyebrow, "I thought Mahtan had stayed behind to help her Majesty."

"Not Mahtan," Turukáno replied, "Rog, a word?"

The elf glanced up and motioned them to sit beside him. "They won't let me in." He growled, and the couple could feel the anxiety radiating off of him.

"I'll talk to them, but I have something I need done, and you're the only one I can think of to do it."

Rog's gaze finally turned from the tent to raise an eyebrow at Turukáno. "And that is?"

"Nothing too stressful, I just need you to stand in a place and look like a disapproving father."

"Where and when?"

"As soon as you are able, and a tent near the central command post, you'll find two other elves with red hair, Nerdanel and her sister Carnimírë. At some point three elves will come and try to steal what's in the tent. My kin have suffered enough bloodshed over this, when they show up, you needn't say anything, just look disapproving and disappointed in them, then escort them to the large tent two rows up from the command compound."

"I'll do it, once my nephew wakes up." Came Rog's answer.

Elenwë nodded, "we can take your watch if you help. One of us can come inform you when he wakes up."

The Lindi sighed and stood, "look after him, he's barely of age..."

"I know," Turukáno nodded, "as I said I will let you know straight away."

Warhammer slung over his shoulder, Rog stalked away, leaving Elenwë and her husband behind. "As gentle a giant as I've ever seen." She mused.

"He's a sweetheart," the king smiled and leaned against her shoulder. After he'd drunk his fill of the sensation, he stood, and crossed the short gap to the tent flap to stick his head inside. His cousin Artanis was bowed over the patient, along with another elf, Pityaruva's wife as he recalled, and both had furtive  expressions as they worked. Artanis glanced up at him, "how is he?"

"Half dead. Now out!" She ordered, managing to shout with a whisper. 

Turukáno sighed and fell back into his seat beside his wife. "So, I suppose I owe you an account of myself then."

"I thought it would be more along the lines of a summary of what you've been up to until now, but yes, an account of it would be nice." She smiled and stroked his cheek.

He closed his eyes and thought back, "I suppose I shall pick up the story where you left off..."


	21. Unto World's End - Second Movement

_Listeners, I bring you news from the front lines, as it would seem the hour of victory is at hand. Former Ondolindë resident Eärendil was seen arriving and conferring with the Eagle division to determine the most effective method of clearing the dragon rookeries not crushed by the fall of the great black beast several days ago. Some sources indicate that it was not as the earliest reports indicated the grandson of our beloved High King, but any news of our mysterious savior seems to be lost. Though one Herald Information Attaché managed to indicate that they were in the healers’ ward. In other “Assault on the Great Fortress” news, Lord Ulmo, He Who Summons the Waters, was seen earlier conferring with the anti-balrog unit affectionately named the Wrath of Ulmo, in preparation for heading into the pits..._

Eight hours later and Turukáno's tale had reached the start of the war when Galadriel emerged from the tent, wiping her face off with a cloth. "He's awake."

"Right," he nodded to Elenwë, "I'll go find Rog."

She smiled, "we'll be waiting for you." She stood as her attention fell to her cousin by marriage, "how is he?"

"Stubborn, irritable, annoying, take your pick." The Noldo stretched, "nice to see you again."

"And you as well." The Vanya grinned, "go get some rest, you look like you need it."

"Right," Galadriel yawned, "if you get a moment swing by the medical central tent, I've a friend who I'm sure you'd love to meet."

Beaming, she paused at the tent flap, "I shall. And you can tell me all about this Sinda elf rumor says you married." The healer paused in her step, considered then waved over her shoulder, confirming she would. Elenwë ducked inside the tent.

Across the encampment, Turukáno found Rog, chattering amiably with Nerdanel and Carnimírë. The two crafters also paused as they watched their nephew approach. The former Lord of the Hanmer of Wrath stopped mid-sentence at the king's approach. "How is he?" It unnerved the High King to hear someone as stalwart as Rog sound so utterly frightened.

"Awake, and according to what Artanis said, stubborn, irritable, and annoying. I'd say you could go see him but..."

"I understand." The large elf’s shoulders slumped. He had been asked to help, and his friend had kept his word.

"We explained the situation," Nerdanel smiled, "how are you Turukáno? Though I suppose I should call you High King of the Noldor of Endórë now."

His shoulders rolled with stiffness and exhaustion. "I am well, Elenwë is alive, this war is over, all that remains is the matter of your sons."

Carnimírë yawned, "I take it that's why we're standing here looking threatening."

"Yes," he nodded, "I'm afraid at this point Maitimo's beyond reason. He has been for some time."

Nerdanel offered a sorrowful, sympathetic hug. "We heard about your brother."

"Thank you," Turukáno returned the gesture briefly, "And thank you also for doing this."

"If I can stop them I will." She grinned, "I used to bench press Nelyo when I was pregnant with Cano."

Turukáno refrained from commenting. "I should go, I'll be back later with another update, Rog."

The Lindi nodded, "before you go, how is this for the look?”

The king shied away, too reminded of his own father's expression of 'I'm not angry, just disappointed'. Which he had been on the receiving end of on more than one ocassion. "Perfect, absolutely perfect, you could guilt a rock to tears."

Laughing he waved the king off. "Go on then, let me know how Tano is doing? I'll swing by later to check on him."

"I shall." With a wave he set off once more to the healers’ ward of the main camp.

As Turukáno retreated, Rog’s shoulders slumped, the two glanced at one another then to the third. “Is it your spouse?” The sculptor hazarded.

“No, my husband is unharmed, All-Mother be praised,” he smiled weakly, “My nephew, ran away from home to join the war. He’s as stubborn as I was at his age… As angry as I was too… I pray he recovers. I would never forgive myself if something happened to him.”

At that Carnimírё jabbed him in the shoulder, “he’ll pull through, if he’s half as stubborn as Nerdё’s boys are, he’ll be just fine.”

Rog smiled, “yes, he will be. Now, would you feel amenable to joining me for a drink and a brawl when this is over?”

Both Noldor beamed at that, Nerdanel bowed her head politely, “we would be honored.”

~~~~~

The moon hung low in the sky as Nerdanel smiled at the trio approaching the tent. The three elves looked battered and beaten. Their leader’s dull brown eyes remained focused on the tent rather than the people before it. His wild red hair spilled down his shoulders and back save for the golden threaded braid that lingered over his heart. Behind him, the other two had had the sense to tie theirs back, bloodied spikes protruded from between the braids. She lowered her warhammer as they drew close. "Hello boys."

"Mum," Ambarussa perked up. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I couldn't well sit around and let the world end could I?" She smiled.

"Auntie!" He smiled at Carnimírë, "you're here too?"

"Couldn't let this stodgy goody two shoes have all the fun now could I." She wrapped an arm around her older sister's shoulders. "She promised me one fucking great brawl and she delivered!" She pointed at the bandage on her nose, "you should see the sorry shit that gave me this! If there's anything still left of 'em!"

"Please, Carnë, I took down that one." Nerdanel shook her head.

"I still won, you owe me a keg! Soon as we can find a place with alcohol."

"I know." She sighed.

Maitimo had circled around while the sisters bantered only to encounter Rog, standing quietly in front of the tent flap. "Grandfather, move."

At that the Lindi utilized his 'father look' and pinned the eldest of Nerdanel's children with it. He stepped back, doubt seeping into his heart. But it was his mother's next words that destroyed the frayed threads of his resolve. "Nelyo, it's over. You don't have to fight anymore. The Oath is ended."

Since the darkening of Valinor, Nelyafinwë Maitimo Fëanárion had only cried twice. The first was during the first days of his imprisonment upon Thrangondorim. The second was upon discovering what remained of Findekáno's body. But now, he sank to his knees, shoulders slumped, without the Oath, what had been the point of it all? Shoulders heaved, and he pressed his arm to his eyes. Nerdanel knelt in the ashen dirt before him, and pulled his head to her shoulder, stroking his hair as she sang.

Ambarussa sheathed his sword, and glanced at Makalaurë, "what now Cano?"

"What else is there? We give ourselves up." He cast down his own blades and offered his wrists to his aunt.

Carnimírë raised an eyebrow, "what do you want me to do with those?"

"I was expecting you to shackle me."

She raised an eyebrow, "no. I think you boys can go to the Valar unchained, any one of you tries anything funny and I'll use my secret technique on you."

Makalaurë winced as Ambarussa blinked, "what's your secret technique?"

"You don't want to know," his older brother gasped out, pained by the memory alone.

Their aunt smirked, "though if you're curious Pityo, I could show you right now."

"I-I'm alright thank you!" He waved his hands before his face. "Really I am!"

"Good, then let's wait for your brother and we'll go together." She smiled.

They waited for Maitimo to collect himself before they set out. The long walk to the central command center that housed the Valar was due to the elf that the sons of Fëanáro learned was not actually their grandfather. Rog led the detour through the medical area to find a crowd of people being shuffled out of his nephew's tent. Among them, Turukáno, Elenwë, an unfamiliar Sinda elf, a human, and two dwarves. Behind them stood Galadriel, who said nothing, but radiated an aura of unholy terror that made her approaching cousins pause.

The Sinda in particular was pitching quite the protest. “Cousin this is unfair! As his superior officer-"

"Celegûr Thranduil Oropherion, get your scrawny, inconsiderate arse out of my sight. And I don't want to see it again until you've written a ten page letter home explaining that you ran away to join the Eagle division under a pseudonym!" She snarled at him.

"Y-Yes Lady Galadriel!" He yelped and ran off past the group.

Turukáno sighed as Rog approached, "I'm afraid no one is getting in to see him, not even kin."

Galadriel glared up at the Lindi, "precisely." With that her attention turned to the tent once more. She cast a vicious glance over her shoulder ensured that no one else tried to enter.

The king motioned to the others who had been cast out, "his squad. She will let you in later. I hope." The smith nodded as his friend's attention turned to his cousins. Without another word the king spun on his heel, took Elenwë's hand, fingers threaded, and led them the rest of the way.

As grand as it was impossible, the tent of the Valar stood in the exact center of the central command compound. In front of the entrance they found a Maia and an elf standing guard. "Turukáno Tulkaráto Ñolofinwion, High King of the Noldor of Endórë, I greet you on behalf of Lord Manwë the Blessed, He Who Bears the Breath of the World and Lady Varda the Bright, She Who Kindled the Stars.” The Maia greeted, bowing his dark braided head, the gold caps on the ends clinked together.

Turukáno bowed low in return, "Lord Ëonwë, it is good to see you again."

"Serhê!" The elf beside Ëonwë called, grinning from ear to ear as he ripped off his helmet. "Long time no see! How you been?" His raspy voice greeted cheerfully.

Rog blinked and smiled, "Serhê is my great-great grandfather! My name is Rog!"

"Aww ain't you just the spittin' image of him!" He ran up and hugged the smith before he moved to cooing over the rest of the stunned crowd. "Aww Nerdanel! Haven't seen you since your last gallery opening! And Carnimírë, I owe you a bottle of scotch! And look at you kids, all grown up! And Turukáno, what on earth happened to your teeth, my tiny precious bookworm! I am so proud of you, doin' Finwë some fine justice, he'd be proud of ya too."

"Ingwë..." Ëonwë gave a long suffering sigh, "I brought you here in disguise, you're supposed to stay in disguise. The rest of Aman would have a heart attack if they knew you had come here. At the very least, there is an important matter that needs to be addressed at once."

He sighed and slapped his helmet back onto his head, "I understand," the Vanya slung the spear over his shoulder, "y'all can go in."

Ëonwë pulled the tent flap open, motioning to the three brothers. Maitimo stepped inside without another word. Makalaurë swallowed, went halfway and paused, willing himself not to look back before he followed. Ambarussa hugged Nerdanel, "Mum, I'm sorry." Then bolted inside before he could say anything further. The Maia nodded briefly to them before he disappeared in and the tent flap sealed itself, fading from view.

Rog gave a brief nod, "if you'll all excuse me, I have to go check on my nephew."


	22. The Nature of War - Thrid Movement

_ According to one report, it would seem that the last of the balrogs have been defeated. The Wrath of Ulmo division confirms that they have found no others among the rocks and ruin of the subterranian city. The caverns have been systematically flooded thanks to the attending Maiar to ensure that no survivors would remain. This is jubilant news, as it means the fortress has been cleared out, and the last of the spawn has been dealt with. Lord Arafinwë had this to say on the matter, “on behalf of my sister, Queen Findis of Tirion, I would like to thank everyone for their aid during this time of trial. Now we may refocus our efforts on building new lives.” _

_ Breaking news from the central command post, several keen eyed informants have reported that the sons of Fëanáro, remembered most for their Kinslayings at Alqualondë and Menegroth, have been taken before the Valar to receive judgment. More on this story as it develops. _

Six hours later saw Rog and an elf with a writing board seated in the medical tent where Mírdan had been taken for treatment. "I told you, I was angry. There's nothing else." 

The other elf raised an eyebrow, "I don't care how angry you were, I still need your after action report."

The smith motioned, "tell, what was your name?"

"Erestor," the scribe grumbled.

"Tell Erestor, he's not here to judge, and I'll see to it myself that this stays quiet."

The young elf sighed, even as he shifted into a better position, whole body numb from the pain. "Fine... I was three hours into rotation, just kited a couple of sparks down Baron's Break when they just stop and start humming in the air. Stabbed out another flame, didn't even bother with fighting back. Here I was expecting at least a struggle but no, just popped up, slice, dice, dead-"

"Slow down," Erestor scowled, trying to parse the jumble of words.

The tent flap opened as Aegthelion stuck his head in, "heart of mine, there's- big brother! What in the name of the One are you doing here?"

The scribe glanced up, set aside his writing implements before he dragged the warrior inside, hugging him. "You ungrateful, unrepentant, unconcerned, incorrigible lout. Do you know how worried I've been?! Over five hundred years in Alqualondë, and you just left, no note, no chance to say 'Oh darling brother, how the years apart have wounded me so, the court of Fëanáro is fine, how have you been? By the way I am going to spend the next nine years on an ice bridge going to a land that is impossible to reach anymore and never tell you I'm leaving!"

Aegthelion sighed, "there wasn't any time... and I thought after what happened in the city..."

"As if I thought you would actually participate in something as asinine as the Kinslaying." He shook his brother's shoulders, "I was worried you were dead, or worse?! And here I find you, on a field of ruin looking peachy! That's just beautiful! Also who is this you're calling heart of mine?!"

"Oromehtar, this is my husband, Rog. Rog, this is my brother, Oromehtar."

Rog waved cheerfully at that, bewildered by the name switch "hello."

The other elf scowled, "one, I am going by another name now, Erestor in Sindarin, as I refuse to go any longer by the name that cretin gave me. Two, you got married without inviting me. Three, your husband has patches of scales."

Aegthelion swooped him into a hug. "But you're not lonely anymore, right? And you weren't here to invite. And I have gills, what's your point?"

Erestor sighed and leaned into the hug. "Fair, I suppose what I am attempting to articulate is, it's good to see you again Sorno, how have you been?"

"I've missed you something fierce." The warrior's face broadened with a smile, "but I have so much to tell you and you have a whole clan now?"

"A clan?" He replied, skeptical of this.

"Yes!"

With that Rog waited for Aegthelion to nod before he pulled both of them into a hug. "Clan!" He declared, Erestor tapped his brother on the arm and a moment later was released from the hug. The Lindi turned to their bed ridden nephew, "Tano, meet your uncle." The other elf had fallen asleep, soundly judging by the way none of the statements seemed to move him. Aegthelion motioned them out.

Once clear of the tent flap, Rog smiled as he stretched, "we'll have to prepare quite the feast."

"Agreed," his husband smiled before leaning to his ear. "Um, heart of mine, not that I do not love you, but I, er, I wish some time with my brother, alone."

Rog nodded and kissed his forehead, "I'll be in with our nephew if you need me."

"Thank you."

He watched the pair depart, the silent minutes passed before a rustle came at the tent flap. Rog stood and opened it to reveal a human woman, a High Noldorin steel blade at her hip. “Captain Belfin of the House of Haleth, Eagle Division, may I enter?”

He nodded, she slipped past him to set a large equipment ruck at the foot of the cot. “You are friends with my nephew?”

“I am his commanding officer, but yes, young blood here is a friend.” She picked up Mírdan’s helmet, already unscrewing the cracked eyepiece to replace it. “Not that he needs it.” She shrugged as she worked, “after he took Ancalagon out Eärendil and a flight of Lord Manwë’s eagles came in and finished the stragglers. We’re out of a job.”

Rog settled once more on the stool, one hand carefully petting his nephew’s head. “Why?”

“Why what?” Belfin tilted her head as she removed the eyepiece.

The smith bowed his head and pressed his hands to his face. “What made him think that was a good idea? He’s just a boy…”

“Who knows,” she shook her head. “We all make decisions, some end with your family and friends dead at your feet. Others end with you breaking a mountain beneath a volcano with wings and an attitude.”

The Lindi scowled, directionless as his rage. “But… He shouldn’t have to… I could have done it. He’s only a boy.”

She sighed, “I hate advocating on the behalf of reckless adolescents, but sometimes the easiest way to work through an issue is to make mistakes. It’s how we learn. I was talking with the Noldo in the sweeper teams, Salgant, asking what someone like him was doing in a division like this. He said because he’d had made mistakes and worked through them, but now he needed to know for himself that he had changed.”

“What was his verdict?”

“Not sure, but he saved my life and the lives of my two wind lancers when that thing the young blood killed cropped up. Screeched at the incoming boulders or something. Otherwise we would have been crushed.” The human shrugged, “it is what it is. In some ways I pity you, the Firstborn I mean, the consequences haunt you forever.” Her hand flicked over the unconscious Lindi’s body, “but consequences are how we learn.” She stood up, “judge him, but keep an open mind. If you’ll excuse me, I need to find my division commander. I heard the Lady Galadriel was reading him the rights of judgment and then some.”

Rog nodded as Belfin left. He gazed at the elf asleep in the cot for a while. His nephew’s chest rose and fell in short, uneasy gasps. “Oh my little one, you’re as stubborn as your mother…”

“I’d say as stubborn as you.” Laurëfindë’s voice came from the flap.

“Really Lauro?” He gave a grim chuckle.

The other elf nodded, “The King wants to see you in a little bit, says he’s going to have a job for you in a few hours.”

“Alright, will you watch him when I go?”

“Of course.” The Noldo smiled as the smell of food caught the smith’s attention. “Also brought food for you and Sorno, surprised he’s not here.”

Rog took the portion of rations meant for him and jutted his chin to the entrance. “His brother carted him off.”

“Ah.” He settled in on the abandoned seat. “How’s this one?”

“Alive, half mad on whatever herbal remedy Galadriel’s given him for the pain. When he’s not sleeping that is.” The Lindi paused to tear into the hunk of bread and soak up some of the stew. “What did you mean when you said he was as stubborn as me?”

At that, Laurëfindë took a swig from his water flask before he spoke. “You remember when we first met? You were bleeding half to death and still trying to pummel the orcs with your bare hands in a blood rage.” He shook his head, “you wouldn’t even let us get close to you until we’d treated everyone else, and even then I think you almost clawed me to death before Egalmoth talked you down.”

He grimaced as his eyes fell to the dusty ground, “How is that the same?”

“Because there’s a lot of you in him,” the warrior gestured. “If someone you care about gets hurt, you rampage until they are safe. I bet the kid was pissed when he found you’d come here without him.” He held up a hand, “I don’t say this to accuse you, I say it to prove a point. Now that everything’s mostly settled, he’ll be fine, and you’ll be fine.”

The tent flap opened once more as Erestor and Aegthelion ducked inside, “has the patient awoken again?”

Both shook their heads before the scribe scowled at Laurëfindë. “You…”

“Me?” He blinked.

“You kissed me on the dance floor, in public! And then had the decency to leave me in Alqualondë without even so much as a name or an offer of courtship! You lewd, vile wretch!” The scribe roared.  


Unable to articulate a reply that would improve the situation, he settled for glancing to his best friend. Aegthelion shook his head, “you’re on your own here Lauro.”

“Thank you so much,” the sarcasm crackled in the warrior’s voice. He considered his options, “I could court you if you’d like.”

“You will court me.” Erestor corrected, “and we shall begin an informal date as soon as-”

A low groan came from the cot, “why does my head feel like a wasp nest spawned in it?”

The scribe picked up his board, “good now we may resume your after action report.”

“I have to pee first.” The young Lindi attempted to sit up, but instead rolled from the bed, screaming in pain. At once his uncles hoisted him back into bed. Blood seeped from the bandages across his body. Laurëfindë and Erestor left to go find Galadriel. The scribe decided his report could wait a little while longer.

Laurëfindë offered out his hand to said scribe, cheeks hot as he ducked his head. “Erestor, would you, that is, would you care to accompany me to the mess tents to get food? I realize that I’ve not given you the proper declaration of courtship, nor is a battlefield an appropriate place to begin a romantic endeavor, but…” He trailed off lamely.

Erestor chuckled, a low, pleasing rumble in the back of his throat, “if you insist. But first we find the head of the healers.”

Back in the tent, Rog and Aegthelion did what they could for their nephew. “I hate war. I hate yrk. I hate it all.”

Aegthelion ran a cloth over Mírdan’s bloodied and sweat stained brow. “As do I. But hopefully this will be the end of it. While I love the swords you’ve made me, I love the jewelry and trinkets far more.

The smith leaned over and pecked his cheek, “then I shall continue to shower you in them.”


	23. Time Anew - Fourth Movement

_ Interesting news from the tent of the Valar. I have just been given the news by the Lord Ëonwë himself, the patron of heralds and criers. The Valar have heard the case before them of the three remaining sons of Fëanáro, and will render their verdict in physical form at sundown. In the meantime I have been instructed to inform you all that all non-essential persons are to begin packing up the camp as we prepare to leave. Also early reports from the scouts along the evacuation trails report that they have found the entrances to a dozen or more orc tunnels that were occupied. Volunteers to clear these tunnels may submit their name and rank to their commanding officer. Oh, before I forget, the Herald of the Sky King, praise be, has asked me to deliver a clarification and an announcement. The clarification, and I quote verbatim: To anyone who believes it was I who slew Ancalagon the Black, it was not. I was engaged with the likes of Sauron, lieutenant of Moringotto and traitor to my kin, I lack the power to be in two places at once. The announcement, again quoting verbatim: you will have one month from today to finish clearing the camp and travel to a designated evacuation site three weeks ride away. Once all free peoples are clear, and we are certain all non-combatants have also evacuated, the area from the sea to the mountains… Shall be cast into the ocean depths? _

Maeglin froze in his tracks as he heard the announcement. “But what about-” his protest cut off, the grave of his mother had already burned when the city he called home had fallen.

“Mae? You alright?” Both Faroness and Pityaruva had agreed to accompany him to a meeting with his uncle. The latter also carried the latest batch of after action reports from the medical staff.

“It’s nothing, I was merely overwhelmed with the idea that my mother’s grave would be under the sea.” He shook his head. “Now, I believe Uncle said we were to meet him around here.”

They turned again and again the smith froze in his tracks. “Does anyone know who they are?”

Pityaruva leaned around him, eyes widening, “that is Lady Anairë, His Majesty’s mother, and Queen Elenwë his wife, and the Lady Nerdanel, wife of the late Lord Fëanáro. Also the Lady Galadriel, and Lord Gil-Galad of the House of Arafinwë, along with the Lord Arafinwë himself. Also Lady Lindëwen and her son Lord Tyelperinquar, wife and son of the late lord Curufinwë.” An old anxiety crept into the beastmaster’s stomach as he spoke, “wonder what’s up?"

With them also were Itaril, Voronwë, and Tuor, grey streaked beard glittering in the sun. “Maeglin, over here,” she waved him forward.

He hesitated, remembering what had happened when he had met someone else from his family. To say that Findekáno reacted poorly would be an understatement. The former High King had taken the news of his sister’s death badly, and to find out her son by that monster lived still, he was just lucky Turukáno had intervened when he did. “Cousins,” he greeted with a bow of his head. “I’ve not seen you for a while, how are you?” He greeted politely, even as he skirted around the rest of the group.

“We’re doing well, and you?” Itaril smiled.

“Well enough,” the miner gestured to the files, “we came to deliver these at Uncle’s request.”

“Good, he’s been anticipating them,” she offered, “are you well, Cousin?”

He gave a brief nod, “yes. Fine.”

“Maeglin,” Turukáno strode forward, “I see you’ve brought the after action reports and my squire.”

Pityaruva steppes forward to hand over the reports with a bow, “as requested, including the report from the Eagle division you wanted on the big one.”

The king took the reports and nodded, “thank you, Ruvo. I’m afraid though I will have to ask you and Faroness to leave us. This is a family matter only.”

The smith glanced around, of the assembled group, he only really knew Itaril and Tyelperinquar enough to be comfortable around them. “Uncle with respect, are not friends counted as family?”

Turukáno’s eyebrows rose, “I suppose. Very well, they may stay for the time being.”

“Thank you Uncle,” he relaxed a hair as the king beckoned to another elf.

The warrior approached, “yes son?”

“Mother, may I introduce Maeglin Lómion, Írissë’s son that I told you of earlier.”

Maeglin swallowed as he stiffened, “an honor ma’am.”

Anairë shook her head, “ma’am’s far too formal, call me Grandmum, or Gran, it’s what Itaril calls me.”

“Gran,” the word twisted on the smith’s tongue. “Very well.”

“Don’t look so scared, lad,” she grinned fondly, “Findekáno got his high-strung nature from his father. Your uncle told me everything. I don’t hold where you came from against you, because you’ve worked to be better than it.” He scowled briefly, resenting the implication that he was showing fear on his face. The smith had trained long and hard to avoid it. However he could not deny the relief in his heart at the idea that she didn’t hold what happened to his mother against him. She motioned to one of the bonfires, “you kids look hungry, we have more than enough food.”

The three sat down beside Anairë, Turukáno folded himself in opposite them, already reading the reports. “Gran,” Maeglin began, “what is going on here?”

“The House of Finwë has been called together to hear the verdict of the Valar concerning the sons of Fëanáro.”

“Sons of Fëa- Fëanor?” Faroness piped up, bewildered.

The warrior nodded, “aye, also known as my nephews.” She tapped her gauntleted fingers against the hilt of her sword. “Those boys followed their father on a whirlwind of terrible choices, and now they’re paying the price.”

The Sinda frowned for a moment and considered, “did they at least have a chance to fight it out properly or- oh, wait Noldor, never mind.” Her ears flattened as she scratched the back of her head.

Maeglin set a gentle hand on her shoulder in sympathy. “It’s alright.”

As she observed them, Anairë smiled, “I doubt it would be a bad thing if you two were here for the lad. This family is huge enough as is, what’s one or two more?”

Both Pityaruva and Faroness opened their mouths to protest, but Maeglin beat them to it. “While I personally would welcome their company and support, I cannot speak for them, nor force them into this. Ruvo?”

“Might as well, my wife’s on rotation, and I need something to do.” He grinned.

The miner nodded, “Ness, what say you?”

“I’ll stay,” she smiled, ears forward and tail wagging slightly.

Anairë beamed, “that settles it then.” She motioned to them to stand.

Near the tent flap both Ingwë and Ëonwë emerged. “Alright Finweans, they are ready for ya!” The elf hollered.

Turukáno took Elenwë’s hand and motioned to Itaril and Maeglin, beckoning them forward. The group followed him inside and  found themselves inside of a massive ring that all logic and proportion told them should never be able to fit inside the tent. Seated on great thrones carved of living stone were the Valar, and before them knelt the three remaining sons of Fёanáro. The High King of the Noldor came to a halt beside the captives. He glanced down at them, both Makalaurё and Ambarussa glanced back. Maitimo remained silent, eyes fixated on the floor.

“I have been summoned and answered, You Who Bears the Breath of the World. I will hear the judgement you have passed upon these three.” He declared, voice echoing around the halls. 

The Valar remained silent as Ëonwë cleared his throat, “the sentence has been made and passed. Nelyafinwë Maitimo Fёanárion, Canafinwё Makalaurё Fёanárion, Pityafinwё Ambarussa Fёanárion, you are hereby counted as having fulfilled the oath you and your kinsmen swore before the dawn of this First Age of the Sun. Through your actions within the Unified Army of the West, the Silmarils have once more come into the possession of the Good and Kind. However your actions in Alqualondё as well as Menegroth have called your status as part of these people. For the slaughter of innocents with no quarrel against your family, the destruction of the realms of the Teleri, and for knowingly and willingly taking these actions, you shall suffer for your crimes. A life for a life does not balance the weight of your actions, and so you shall be spared. Instead, first we strip you of all title, lands, and holdings. Your accrued wealth shall be transferred to the Noldorin royal treasury, to be distributed to the families of your victims when the evacuation is complete.

“You yourselves shall be subjected to the laws of the rulers of the kindred of the Firstborn. You shall live in their realms, learn their ways, and perform deeds in their names. Only they may decide when you have repented. To aid your quest here is a list of rulers you shall seek out: for the Noldor - Turukáno Tulkaráto Ñolofinwion, for the Teleri - Ñowё, for the Sindar - Oropher Araclaur Celebcirion, and representing the Avari - Lenwё. You may spend no longer than a century between seeking out your tasks, though once you are at a task, you are permitted to remain as long as the rulers deem necessary. Once you pass through the entryway, you are commended into the care of your kinsman and king. Are their any who would question this proclamation as I have spoken?”

No protest came from the Finweans, but a hand, attached to a golden dandelion of an elf snaked into the air. “ Lovely speech my fine feathery friend, but uh ya seem to have forgotten a kindred?” Ingw ё smiled. Ëonwë’s face soured at his friend, but with a long-suffering sigh he motioned for the Vanya to continue. “Well ya seem to be missin me an’ mine and as I recall, ya’ll said that they need to serve a ruler of each kindred am I right?”

“Yes,” the Maia frowned.

“An’ I noticed this fine fuckin list ya drafted doesn’t seem to have any Vanyar on it.” The elf counted off each of the rulers.

“Have you forgotten that the Lady Elenwë is also of your kin?” Ëonwë shot his friend a withering glare.

Ingwë shook his head. “Nah but she ain’t on the Rulin Council, she’s th’ High Queen of Finwë’s people. So as King of th’ Vanyar it falls ta me ta make sure these kids get the fair chance they deserve. I volunteer t’ stay behind and keep an eye on ‘em. ‘Sides, someone needs t’ tell Finwë what’s goin down with his kids.”  

Unable to come up with an articulate reply, Ëonwë cast a pleading gaze back at the Valar, praying to the One that one of them would have a loophole. Tulkas broke the silence, “did not see that one coming.”

Varda nodded to the Vanya before her, who let out a whoop and trotted over to join the Noldorin retinue. “You are all hereby dismissed, and may this judgement grant you wisdom and good fortune.”

The three captives stood and departed the tent, tailing after the rest of the contingent. Maeglin lingered by the door with Faroness and Pityaruva, watching the others go. Ingwë bounced over to him, practically beaming, “you must be one of lil Ñolo’s grandkids! Aww ain’t you just got the cutest horns!”

The smith backed away slightly, “as it pleases you, your Majesty.”

Ingwë laughed, “we’re family, ya’ll can just call me Uncle, or Ingwë, or both.” He winked, “now then if ya’ll will excuse me I should be makin’ myself scarce before Ëonwë finds me.” With that the whirlwind of fluff fluttered away.

The two others laid a sympathetic hand on Maeglin’s shoulders, “I think that went well!” Faroness beamed, tail wagging.

“That is definitely one word for it,” the Noldo rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I need food and a nice cup of jasmine tea. Shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go, thank you all so much for the support and love for this project!


	24. At World's End - Final Movement

_ A storm has passed listeners, and a new tale begins. These secrets that have come down from ages past, a secret now that is only known to a few. A secret now I give unto you. A secret I give in the form, of the weather. _

Halyahendu sat down on the nearest crate in the pile of supplies. His ears twitched at the sounds of the camp around him. Commotion and order bound into one. But both left him with a melancholy he could neither name nor shake.

“Halyo, is something wrong?” An unexpected voice came as Lutumo knelt down, “I would have thought your weather selection would be more mirthful than this.”

“How can we be mirthful? Evil has been broken yes, but so have we. We have been twisted and torn, fettered and frayed. We thought ourselves forsaken but salvation has been given. Why? The land we came to we broke though our deeds. People who were not involved in our strife have perished. Nothing is as it was.” The herald bowed his head.

The former Lord of the Tower considered this for a while. “Did we not have this conversation when the Trees fell?”

“Similar but not the same. We have failed to learn from our past.”

At that Lutumo studied him, “history is more complicated than you give it credit for, and the nature of people more optimistic than that. After all people are capable of making different choices. Did you know the sons of Fëanáro tried to attack Sirion before his Majesty gave the order to begin this war?”

Halyahendu’s eyebrows rose in shock. “No I didn’t.”

The other Noldo nodded sagely, “they did, but his Majesty received a tip and talked them out of it.” 

“But why? All signs point to a different outcome. Past is prologue, chapters etched into the papers of time delicately crafted by our hands and words.” He ran a hand through his hair, scowling aimlessly. “By all rights this makes no sense.”

“That is the thing about people, they can always surprise you.” Lutumo gestured ahead of him, Egalmoth and Tulindo rounded the corner, holding hands with the grumpiest expressions on their faces.

“Luto, if you say anything I will shiv you until you resemble Himring cheese.” She hissed at her friend.

He winked, “I see nothing whatsoever.” She hissed at him as they carried on, Egalmoth chuckling under his breath the whole way. The Noldo leaned back as Halyahendu studied a point just over his left shoulder with a curious if indignant pout. “As I said people are full of surprises.” He stood then, stretching, “try not to get too put out about it.”

“I shan’t.” The herald waved him off. Silence descended around him, the couriers, guards, and others faded to a quiet murmur. Until the clatter of another medical cart drew his attention, pausing just before the herald. The patient glanced down at him, wiggling to the edge of the fur and hay mound that served as a bed. And he in turn observed, confused by the youthful feel of the elf above him.

“May I ask you something?” Halyahendu stood to meet the other at eye level.

“Guess, not like I have anything better to do.” The elf wiggled closer.

“If you were faced with a problem, say someone withholding a personally significant object, and twice before had resorted to violence to obtain it, would you still resort to it the third time or try a different approach.” The herald leaned forward conspiratorially. “Remember you have done this twice before.”

The elf considered for a moment before yawning and nestling into the furs, now firmly asleep. Halyahendu’s face lit up. “I understand! I understand now! The very nature of life has opened up to me! Everyone is capable of the completely unexpected! Someone falling asleep midconversation, something I have never seen before listeners! Oh what a wonderful day listeners! We are all bundles of entropy and madness adrift in a sea of grief!”

Another head appeared over the edge of the railing, battled scarred and hair mussed with a lone gold braid over their left shoulder. “Do you mind not screaming so loudly?” Maitimo frowned.

“But I have come to the realization that in the grand schemes of the one we are but as ants and every single of of us is capable of anything at any time!” He practically bounced as he spoke, arms flailing. “We always have a choice and that no one person is ever bound by anything if they choose not to be! Isn’t it wonderful?”

Maitimo’s dark eyes hollowed, unfocused onto some past tremor as he disappeared back onto his side of the cart.

The cart lurched into motion, revealing Tirohtar with an armful of paperwork. “Your very loud beloved.”

Halyahendu bounded over to his husband with a smile, “how could I not be?”

“I know,” he rocked up onto his toes and kissed the other Noldo’s forehead.

The herald paused and took the researcher’s hand. “Is it not a wonderful thing to witness a chapter closing around us? The world shattered, broken, laid low in ashes, but as a fire may bloom from a single ember, so too may we bloom as life springs eternal.”

Tirohtar guided him down the pathway, waving at Rog, Aegthelion, Erestor, and Laurëfindë eating dinner. Telerunkë sat with Pityaruva, Maeglin, and Faroness, preparing the pot of jasmine tea while Lómiel read them a letter from her family. They pressed on, past Angalen, offering out a book full of pressed flowers to Moralqua. An open tentflap across from them revealed Salgant slumbering peacefull against Galdor’s side.

“Interesting,” the herald mused.

Tirohtar tilted his head, “what is?”

“You shall see,” Halyahendu nodded, “we are here.”

Nearby, Voronwë stood with Itaril and Tuor, bidding farewell to their son as the Vingilot hovered overhead.

Turukáno lingered just past them with Elenwë, “are you certain?”

“Of course I am,” she pressed a finger to his nose gently. “I want to have another child with you. Besides with our daughter accompanying Tuor and Voronwë to this new Númenor, it’s going to be rather lonely about the palace. And I know you, you need someone to fuss over.”

The king stepped over to the rest of their family as Eärendil waved to him, albeit rather sheepishly. “Grandfather, how are Elrond and Elros?”

“They are doing well, I left them in the care of the Lord Círdan and his family. How is Elwing?” He asked.

The mariner nodded, “she is good, we have a house near the coast.”

Turukáno offered his grandson a faint smile. “Good to hear, take care of yourself lad.”

“You too, Grandfather,” he set a hand to the rope and hauled himself to the deck of the ship.

The elf then turned to his son by marriage, “are you looking forward to becoming the human king?”

Tuor considered for a while before he gave a solemn nod. His arms crossed as he leaned into Itaril’s side. Voronwё walked over and ruffled the greying hair. “Tuor will be fine, he has us to look out for him after all.”

“Your father loves to fuss, it’s what keeps him going.” Elenwё pressed a kiss to his temple. “You will make a good king Tuor, and may history remember you as a great one. And now, shall we go have dinner, or have we sent young Artanáro off for nothing?”

Itaril smiled, “sounds good.” She waved over to the two nearby, “hello Halyo, hello Tiro!”

The pair waved back as the family departed. “Has that explained it to you or do you require more?” the herald grinned cryptically.

Tirohtar’s vexation grew, “I don’t understand.” He sat down beside Halyahendu in the dust.

“Tell me what you saw.”

“I saw our friends, our leaders, going about their business. What’s so special about that?”

“Everything.” Halyahendu smiled and leaned against his husband’s side. “Reach into my hood.”

Bewildered, Tirohtar did so, but no cat had occupied it since Yaulë had died at the ripe old age of three hundred some months prior. However his hand closed around a small bundle of fur. He extracted the small ball of fuzz, and his jaw dropped. There in his hand, all blue eyes and stripes, sat a baby creature. “This is a tiger cub.”

“This is Yaulë. I thought you knew cats have nine lives. I spoke with the Lord Námo about our beloved Yaulë and he brought our darling friend back.” Halyahendu beamed.

The researcher twitched, “this is a  _ tiger cub _ .”

“Yes. So?”

“I- you-” the Noldo keeled over in shock.

The herald smiled and picked up the tiger before kissing his husband’s cheek. “Good night, darling Tirohtar, good night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading, and a special shout out to everyone who has left feedback on this! I never expected this little flight of fancy to get this much attention. I've got a sequel in the works, focused around a certain trio of misfits, so look for Letters to my Brothers here soon.
> 
> Thanks again!  
> Wavy

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this tumblr post:  
> http://melkorwashere.tumblr.com/post/83194013485/undoherdamage-misbehavingmaiar-gonedolin


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